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"Well, my luck had to run out eventually,” Ashley mumbled. Shaking her head, she pitched a suitcase on the bed and began to search for her new bathing suit. She'd flown to Ft. Lauderdale from Kansas City that morning to catch the Funstar and couldn't wait another moment to bake the chill from her bones. After that she planned to enjoy a leisurely dinner, drink a little wine, and maybe visit the casino.

  She found the bottom of her bikini beneath a stack of underwear—the skimpy, silky, slinky thong kind she normally avoided. Shucking her jeans and panties, she slid into the blushingly skimpy bottoms in a dark teal shade and stared down in dismay. She didn't remember the suit being that skimpy! Her eyes narrowed as she remembered Kim had been with her. She wouldn't put it past her devil of a friend to exchange the suit for a smaller size when her back was turned.

  With a sigh, Ashley removed her blouse and bra, then dived back into the suitcase for the bathing suit top, reminding herself that it was unlikely she would run into anyone she knew aboard a cruise ship. Besides, she went to the club twice a week—not one of Michael's clubs, of course—and had acquired an artificial tan to start her trip. The five pounds she'd shed in the two weeks while anticipating the cruise hadn't hurt, either. Too bad Tom wasn't here to—

  "Now that's a sight for sore eyes,” a familiar voice drawled from behind her.

  Ashley froze, painfully aware that not only was her behind exposed as she bent over the suitcase, she was also topless.

  Michael...

  She grabbed the first thing her fingers could snag—a slinky red and black nightie—and clutched it to her bare chest. Slowly, she turned, wanting to confirm the impossible. Michael. Here. In her cabin on board a cruise ship heading for the Caribbean.

  "You look great, baby."

  The low, masculine whistle that followed his observation scalded her from head to toe. She swallowed dry, her voice nothing short of a croak. It's the way she felt—as if she would croak any moment. “Wh-what the hell are you doing here?"

  Michael. Definitely here, and dressed in nothing more than a damp towel tucked casually, and all too carelessly for Ashley's peace of mind, around his waist. Her burning gaze dipped to the bulge beneath the towel, then jerked back to his handsome face.

  Apparently he'd been in the bathroom while she thought herself alone. She had mistakenly assumed the shower sounds she'd heard were coming from the cabin next door.

  "I should ask you the same thing,” Michael said, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his arms. “I gather Kim didn't mention to you that I would be on this cruise?"

  Ashley shivered as his dark eyes slid over her again, slowly, thoroughly. Her knees went weak, but she resisted the urge to brace herself against the bed. So, Michael could still make her weak-kneed. All the more reason to avoid him.

  "Get the hell out of my cabin before I call security."

  Michael's dark brows shot upward at her threat. His handsome mouth curled into a mocking grin that made her mouth go dry and her mind go numb from a flood of bittersweet memories. Just seeing him again—something she'd managed to avoid for long stretches—reminded her of just how dangerous he was to her.

  Dammit.

  "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before, Ash,” he said, his voice dipping low. “Besides, this is my—"

  "Get out!” She was shaking now as she tried to cover herself with the sheer material of the negligee. Being in the room with a half-naked Michael was paramount to being caged with a randy lion; an irresistible, silver-tongued lion. Unfortunately, she knew the dangers all too well.

  "I can't get out."

  To her discomfort, he strode past her to the closet on the opposite side of the room. The towel—she noticed but wished she hadn't—slipped dangerously, revealing the smooth, tanned skin of his buttocks. Apparently she wasn't the only one who had prepared for the trip. Gulping, she watched him as he opened the closet doors and pulled a shirt from the hanger.

  Ashley looked past him and gasped. There were men's clothes hanging in the closet. Lots of them. “You-you—"

  She stopped, swallowed hard, and began again. “What are your clothes doing in my closet?” This was a nightmare, one she'd had many times; of being close to him and unable to control her libido.

  "I tried to tell you,” Michael said mildly, slipping the shirt over his broad chest. “That this isn't your cabin—it's mine.

  There must have been a mix-up.” He waved a hand to indicate the clothes. “As you can see, I was already in residence when you came barging in."

  "Barging in?” Ashley sputtered, taking the opportunity to slip the negligee over her head while he buttoned his shirt. The suitcases containing her day clothes were still sitting by the door, and she wasn't about to take her eyes from the enemy long enough to look for the shirt she'd been wearing. “For your information, Michael, I didn't barge in! A steward brought me here, obviously by mistake."

  Carelessly, he dropped the towel as he reached for a pair of pants.

  Ashley slammed her eyes shut, but the image left behind was enough to send shock waves throughout her body. Her knees buckled. She sat abruptly on the bed, trying to picture anything, anything but the sight of his glorious semi-arousal. Her voice was horribly faint and husky as she repeated, “There's obviously been a mistake."

  She jumped a foot in the air and shrieked as strong, familiar hands landed on her upper arms. Out of self-preservation, she kept her eyes shut. Had he put the pants on? Or was he ... he still naked? She didn't want to know. No, of course not. Not at all.

  "Ash, are you okay? You look like you're going to faint."

  Concern. Warmth. And something else she couldn't and didn't dare define in his voice. Little by little, she opened her eyes. She let out a relieved sigh to find him dressed. “I'm okay, just a little shaken.” The confession was out before she could snatch it back. To her surprise, he nodded.

  "I know what you mean.” The sound of his rueful chuckle slid over her like hot suntan oil. “When I opened the bathroom door and recognized your ... bottom, I was a little shook up myself. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

  Ashley licked her lips, trying not to stare at the oh-so-handsome line of his mouth. Forcing herself instead to recall in vivid detail the night she'd made a surprise visit to his hotel room. It was the night her heart had shattered into a million pieces.

  Evoking the bitter memory worked all too well.

  "Not long enough,” she said coldly, shaking his hands loose. “Now, unlike you, I have a little modesty, and I'd appreciate it if you'd step outside the cabin while I get dressed."

  "The bitch is back."

  "She never left.” Ashley pointed at the door. “I need five minutes. Is that too much to ask?"

  "Not at all.” Michael had lost his smile. His eyes had grown dark with grim anger. “Just remember, I was here first."

  "Whatever."

  * * * *

  Outside the cabin, Michael unclenched his teeth and his hands and forced air deeply into his lungs. He turned and braced his hands against the door, giving in to the temptation of imagining Ashley lifting that sexy nightie over her head and baring her breasts. From what he'd seen, she was golden all over, so that meant her nipples would be duskier than what he remembered...

  He stifled a groan and shoved himself away from the door.

  After two years and countless self-lectures, he'd laid himself wide open within ten minutes in her company. Why? Why did he let her hurt him again? The woman was poison! Because of her mistrust, she'd nearly destroyed him.

  Yet here he was, lusting after her on the other side of a closed door.

  Michael paced a rectangle in the hall, concentrating instead on how the mix-up with the cabin could have happened. When he'd gotten the free package from the travel agency, he hadn't meant to take the offer. Then he'd thought about Candy, and the fact that he still hadn't proposed. So he'd said yes, allowing Kim to make the arrangements.

  Mistake number one.

  Then, when he'd discovered Candy
had no intention of going with him anywhere, ever, he'd let Kim talk him into going alone.

  Mistake number two.

  He pivoted, frowned, and paced again. Kim must have known Ashley would be on this ship, without Tom.

  The opportunity to throw them together had been too much for his meddling little sister to resist. Michael ground to a stop. Elated to have solved the puzzle and eager to share it with Ashley, he opened the cabin door and rushed in.

  Ashley stood by the bed, her breasts jiggling as she struggled with the nightie that covered her head. Her hips, encased in the skimpy bikini bottom, swiveled to and fro. Frozen at the delicious sight, Michael shamelessly watched.

  Slowly, her struggles ceased. He could hear her breathing hard through the satin material; see the enticing movement of her breasts with every breath she took.

  Golden-tipped. Luscious. Firm. Familiar.

  "Michael?” she panted.

  Michael cleared his throat, glad she couldn't see the color that rushed into his face. “Need some help?"

  "Oh, God!” She sounded adorably frustrated and embarrassed. “I—the damned hook on this thing is caught in my hair."

  He began to walk toward her, his gaze hot and burning on her squirming body. Need slammed into his groin, bringing him to a painful arousal within seconds. Yearning filled his heart, pushing aside ironclad barriers—or so he'd thought.

  "Um, Michael?"

  He paused, wondering if she could hear him breathing hard as well. “Yes?"

  "Will you please close your eyes? I—I can feel you watching me."

  I'm not surprised. After a quick swallow, he said, “Sure.” It was a bold lie, perhaps one of the boldest he'd ever told her. Reaching out, he gently found the hook and released her hair, then helped her pull the nightie clear.

  Her nipples grazed his chest, knocking another inch into his arousal. Her hands fell to his shoulders as she staggered. Nose to nose, their harsh breathing mingled. He saw the fear in her eyes as he inched his mouth toward hers, and wondered if she could read the same in his.

  "Michael?” she whispered.

  "Ashley?” He seemed just as bewildered.

  "I love Tom,” she stated weakly.

  Her stinging declaration wrenched the lie from his lips. “And I love Candy.” He grabbed her bottom and hoisted her up. She wound her legs around his waist.

  His arousal pushed against the flimsy material of her bathing suit. Impatiently, he freed himself before reaching to push her swimsuit aside. He plunged into her in one swift, soul-shattering stroke.

  He was home.

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  Chapter Three

  Ashley didn't smoke, and she drank only occasionally. In fact, she had no hard vices that she was aware of, but the moment Michael shoved the damp crotch of her bathing suit aside and thrust his hard length into her, she would have eagerly traded places with the worst crack addict.

  In her mind, being addicted to Michael was far, far worse than any drug. Like a drug, he brought humiliation and shame. Like a drug, he was intoxicating, even while she cursed his existence. Like a drug, she was not only helpless to resist him, she was helpless against the rush of euphoria that turned her blood to liquid silver.

  She was addicted to Michael, and she knew it. Just as a smoker might avoid a crowd of smokers or a junkie might avoid a crowded alley full of other junkies, she had smartly avoided Michael since their divorce.

  And this was why.

  "Oh, God, Ash,” Michael moaned against her mouth as he withdrew and then plunged into her again. He did that little swiveling thing with his hips that made her insides go into wild spasms. “You are so tight! I'd forgotten how tight you are, baby. So tight and hot and delicious."

  And that was another thing. Ashley bit her bottom lip hard as with the third stroke, Michael pushed her closer to the edge of the abyss. The way he talked when they were making love. It might have distracted other women, but not her. Not the way Michael talked. Not the things he said. Coupled with the way he moved, it intensified their lovemaking to a volcanic degree.

  "You make me so hard, baby,” he whispered, then covered her mouth in a deep kiss that sucked the air right out of her lungs.

  Kissing Michael was another addiction entirely. When she kissed Tom, her feet remained firmly planted on the ground. The experience was mildly pleasant, yet safely forgettable.

  When kissing Michael, she was jerked upward and shot into the sky like a rocket heading for space. The heat of his mouth ... the erotic way he sucked her tongue ... the pleasurable ripples that made their way along her spine.

  Without conscious thought, she moaned his name. Ashley held onto his rock-hard forearms, wishing he would slow down, knowing she would scream her protest if he did. She was a second away from exploding, could feel deep inside her the contractions beginning, the ones that signaled her impending release.

  "Are you close, baby?” he whispered roughly, echoing her thoughts as his fingers tightened on her hips and his thrusts became deeper and faster. “I hope you are, because it's been so long I can't help myself. Ashley?"

  She recognized the significance in the rise of his voice. Recognized and responded as she always had to him; mindlessly. She tightened her arms around his neck and held on, wildly anticipating one mother of an orgasm—

  "Oh, dear. Oh, dear. The door was cracked, so I thought. Oh, my, dear!"

  And if one strange voice wasn't enough of a shock during this most intimate moment, Ashley heard another.

  "Newlyweds, darling. Wouldn't you say?"

  It was immediately obvious to Ashley that Michael hadn't heard the intruders. His grip had tightened on her hips to a painful degree, and he was drawing back for what she suspected was a final thrust. If she remembered correctly, that thrust would be followed by him shouting her name to the heavens.

  "Michael,” she whispered urgently into his ear, trying to ignore the deep, warning spasms inside her own body that begged her to keep quiet just a moment longer. “Oh, God, Michael. Stop! We've got company!"

  "Huh?"

  Another time and place she might have laughed at the absolute shock on his face as her words sank in. Slack-jawed with disbelief, he turned to stare at the outrageously beaming elderly couple in the doorway.

  Deep inside her, she could feel him pulsing, hovering on the brink of an orgasm.

  The elderly woman smothered a giggle with her hand and continued to stare. Her husband, Ashley assumed, shook his head, his smile widening. He looked as if he'd just caught a couple of teenagers necking in the porch swing, instead of locked together in the most intimate embrace!

  Neither looked the slightest bit embarrassed.

  Ashley felt a full-body blush race across her exposed skin like a wildfire out of control. She buried her face in Michael's shoulder, totally mortified. “Put me down, Michael. Please!"

  He did, slowly and reluctantly, thankfully giving her legs time to adjust before he let go of her hips.

  She lifted her head and peered around his shoulder, allowing him to shield the rest of her body. She slumped in relief. “They're gone. Oh, God."

  He whirled around and stomped to the door, slamming it shut and belatedly twisting the lock. He leaned against the door with his forehead to the varnished wood, breathing hard. “Unbelievable."

  Was he talking about the outrageous couple or the way things had gotten out of control? Shaken, she sank onto the edge of the bed and buried her burning face in her hands. Her body tingled and ached, but her mind had already begun to grasp the reality of what had happened.

  What had she done? The fact that they had been thwarted seconds before the grand finale did not ease or excuse her guilt. Not one tiny bit. Not even a hair.

  She had been unfaithful to Tom, her fiancé.

  With Michael. Her ex. Her rotten, faithless ex-husband. The man who had shattered her heart into a million pieces. The very man she had vowed to avoid for the rest of her life.

  Not only
had she been unfaithful, but unfaithful in front of strangers, as if that made it ten times worse.

  And for some perverse reason she couldn't explain, it did.

  * * * *

  "I-I had a weak moment. It can never happen again."

  At her whispered words, Michael slowly closed his eyes. He had his back to her, and he was glad. Without turning around, he shoved his painful erection into his jeans and managed to zip them.

  What the hell had gotten into him? The woman was poison. He knew this, yet ... yet he'd reacted like a horny convict just out of prison. As if she was the only woman in the world. As if there weren't hundreds of women he could have. Hell, he received a dozen invitations every day at one of his health clubs. From women ten times prettier. Ten times firmer. Ten times less lethal.

  His throat worked until he found his voice. He could do nothing about the hoarseness, and he knew it. She would know. Hell, she already knew, unless she was deaf, dumb, and paralyzed.

  And she would gloat.

  He couldn't allow it. Had to make some excuse. Had to convince her that it was a brain funk or something. And he couldn't let her know about Candy. He could only pray that Kim had taken his advice about keeping his private life private.

  Michael spun around, his gaze locking with hers. She looked shocked as hell. And her cheeks were flushed in a gut-clenching way he remembered. Good. She hadn't been faking her arousal just to get him to the brink of exploding.

  Small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

  "You're damned right it can't happen again.” His jaw popped as he clenched it and then let go. “It wouldn't have happened at all if you hadn't been flashing me.” Her eyes widened to an incredible degree, but before she could respond, he plowed recklessly onward. He had to convince her that what had happened between them had meant nothing. “But you're not completely to blame. Candy's a bit old fashioned, so it's been a while for me. I'm sure you understand."

  To his relief, there was nothing in her expression to hint she knew the truth about Candy.

  "I understand perfectly, Michael.” Her voice was winter cold and filled with uncharacteristic sarcasm. “But you'd better get a handle on your starving libido, because I don't think the other women on this ship will be wearing much more than I was wearing when I tackled you and forced you to have sex.” Her chin went up a notch, and her glittering gaze raked him with unmistakable scorn. “I'm going to have to search for my clothes, and I can't do that while you're in here. Would you please leave?"