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  "It will be my pleasure,” he drawled, stalking to the closet to retrieve his sneakers. He slipped them on and left them untied, then retrieved a lightweight jacket that he folded over his arm and held in front of him to hide the tell-tale bulge in his pants.

  He didn't think it would be disappearing anytime soon.

  "I'll go find you another cabin while you get dressed.” He had his hand on the door when he added, “I guess you've figured out by now that Kim is probably behind this not-so-innocent little mix-up."

  There was a tiny, stunned silence.

  So she hadn't figured it out, Michael thought, feeling a thrust of unwelcome pleasure at the prospect that she might have been too distracted.

  "Kim might have been behind your reason for being here, but the travel agency offered me a free cruise in exchange for a publicity shot for their brochure. Your sister had nothing to do with it."

  "Kim has friends everywhere."

  "I won the lottery, Michael."

  "I know.” She hadn't said ‘we', Michael realized with knee-weakening relief. Was it possible that for once in her life Kim had respected his wishes? That Kim hadn't told Ashley about Candy—or about his shameful secret? The last thing he wanted was for Ashley to find out he'd bought a lottery ticket using her own sentimental numbers. To give her that kind of power over him made his gut churn.

  He'd rather jump overboard into shark-infested waters. And if he had to do that, he was taking little sister with him.

  "What's your excuse for being here?” she prompted.

  The suspicion in her voice almost made him laugh. “Don't think for a moment it was because you were going to be on this ship. I didn't know, and if I had known, I wouldn't be here.” Every word he spoke was the solid truth.

  "Me, either."

  "Good. Then we both agree to stay out of each other's way?"

  "Sounds fine to me."

  "I'll be back as soon as I can clear up this mistake."

  "Thanks for the warning."

  Despite his inner turmoil, Michael found himself biting back a smile at her heartfelt comment as he let himself out and closed the door behind him. Ashley had once, laughingly, called their intense sexual attraction a perfect example of ‘spontaneous combustion'.

  Michael was not amused to realize that nothing had changed.

  * * * *

  "I am so over him,” Ashley said loudly and sternly once he was out of sight and out of mind. Just because she was obviously still attracted to him sexually did not mean she loved him.

  She was attracted to Michael because he was a fine specimen. He owned and operated two health clubs, for heaven's sake. He ate all the right foods and worked out every day, and it showed in his well-toned, muscled body. He also had a handsome face to go with that eye-catching physique.

  And as she well knew, she was not the only one who found Michael attractive. He could get just about any woman he wanted—and had before their marriage, if the rumors were true—so there was no reason he had to take his desperation out on her.

  Unless, of course, he had an ulterior motive.

  Ashley frowned at this new and alarming possibility. What if he had lied about Kim being involved? What if Michael had decided following her aboard a cruise ship would present an excellent opportunity to sabotage her happiness with Tom?

  The blood drained from her face as she realized Michael already had enough evidence, if this is what he planned, plus two witnesses. And poor Kim! In her desperate attempt to throw them together, she would never suspect her brother of devious intentions.

  As the possibility continued to alarm her, Ashley leaped to her feet and began searching every inch of the room for a hidden video camera. Yes, she told herself when her resolve wavered and she found herself feeling ridiculous, Michael was capable of filming them having sex. She couldn't forget how bitter and furious he had been when she served him with the divorce papers.

  In return, she had been dumbfounded that he had had the nerve to be mad when she was the wronged party!

  No, Ashley thought as she stood on the bed so she could reach the smoke alarm attached to the ceiling next to the vent shaft, Michael hadn't changed as Kim had claimed, but he might have gotten better at hiding his deceitful, conniving ways from his little sister. She yanked on the outside case of the smoke alarm until it came off in her hand, then peered inside for a hidden camera. Nothing there but a nine-volt battery. After she replaced the cover, she propped her hands on her hips and gave the room one last careful survey before giving up.

  So maybe he hadn't set up the camera. Maybe she was being ridiculously paranoid. Of course she was. Michael had a knack for bringing out the worst in her. Ashley let out a frustrated sigh. She'd been looking forward to a relaxing cruise, and she knew she would never relax as long as Michael was on the ship.

  Which brought her back to the same question. Why was he on the ship? Was it innocent, as he claimed? Her mind ran in circles as she found her clothes and quickly dressed. Later, when she was in her own cabin and able to think calmly, she would figure out what to do about him.

  Snapping her suitcase closed, she sat on the bed and waited for Michael to return.

  * * * *

  "Is this your credit card number?"

  Michael glanced at the number. The cruise was free, but he'd had to give his credit card number as a show of faith. “Yes."

  The woman in charge of housekeeping shoved the clipboard closer to Michael's face, her smile one of benign patience. “And is this your signature?"

  "Yes.” Michael silently ground his teeth. “But there's been a mistake."

  "I don't understand. It says here that you clearly reserved a luxury cabin for Mr. and Mrs. Michael Kavanagh."

  "I know, but—” Michael felt himself flush. Dammit! Out of respect for Candy, he'd signed her on as his wife. Now his little deception was backfiring, because it was obvious Kim hadn't made the changes he'd requested when Candy backed out. “Look, can you just get Mrs. Kavanagh another cabin? We can't share one."

  Miss Beech was shaking her head before Michael could finish. “This is peak season for us, Mr. Kavanagh. I'm afraid there are no cabins left.” Her voice lowered to a confidential whisper. “Give it a little time. Maybe you two will kiss and make up."

  Michael couldn't deny that they might kiss, but he knew for certain they wouldn't make up. “Thanks, anyway,” he muttered ungraciously before heading to the door. He was not looking forward to giving Ashley the bad news.

  "Sorry I couldn't help, Mr. Kavanagh. Oh, by the way, you might not have noticed, but it's at least eighty degrees.” Her gaze dipped suspiciously to the folded jacket shielding his stubborn erection. “We wouldn't want any of our passengers suffering a heat stroke, you know."

  He might suffer a heat stroke before the trip was over, Michael thought darkly, but it wouldn't have anything to do with that kind of heat. He slammed the door with unnecessary force and tried to imagine taking a cold shower.

  It didn't work. He could still feel her around him, against him, torturing him, bringing him to the brink of a wild orgasm that only Ashley seemed capable of giving him. Her scent was firmly planted in his nostrils. Her taste clung to his tongue. Her image took over his mind, an erotic image of her flushed face and passion-glazed eyes.

  Damn her.

  With a muffled curse, Michael went in search of the ship's bar. He needed a drink before he faced her again, something to dull his senses. What was it about her? Why didn't other women affect him this way? He'd had no trouble keeping his hands to himself around Candy, who was twice the knockout. She oozed sex appeal and drove men to a frenzy. Her double D bust-line alone made men drool.

  The fact that he had kept his hands to himself was probably the very reason Candy had suggested they take a breather.

  A permanent one.

  He found the bar and ordered a straight whiskey. He preferred beer, but knew whiskey was quicker. The bartender lifted a questioning brow at his gruff tone.

&
nbsp; "Two hours out to sea and you've already got problems?” The bartender let out a low whistle of disbelief. “That ain't good, my friend. Not good at all. The Funstar has a reputation for making people happy."

  Michael's lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Don't worry. It isn't the ship's fault.” He draped the jacket over his lap, wondering if Ashley had planted a curse on him. What if he stayed this way the entire seven days? He'd have to wear baggy pants, carry his jacket in front of him, and lurk in the shadows.

  The thought prompted a groan.

  "That bad, huh? The name's Rick."

  Since the bartender, a young man with bleached hair and friendly blue eyes, seemed determined to play the proverbial confidante, Michael found himself sharing information he didn't normally share.

  "Michael. Yeah, it's that bad. There was a mix-up, and it looks like my ex-wife and I will be sharing a cabin for the next seven days."

  Seven days. To Michael, that seemed like a lifetime—and a lot of cold showers.

  "Can I get a strawberry margarita?"

  Michael glanced at the woman who had taken the stool beside his own. She wore a skimpy, off-shoulder white dress that complimented her deep tan and petite, shapely figure. Her arms, he noted, were firm and slightly muscled. Her honey-blonde hair looked natural.

  With a guilty start, he realized that she'd caught him looking. She smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth. “Hi. I'm Tanya.” She held out a slim hand void of a wedding ring.

  To Michael's mystification, and exasperation, the moment he touch her hand his stubborn erection took a nosedive. “The name's Michael."

  Her smile wavered, then disappeared. She gazed at him with obvious disappointment. “You're married."

  Had he given her a false signal? Frowning, Michael wasted no time correcting her. “No, I'm not. Divorced two years, actually."

  "Sure.” Tanya didn't sound as if she believed him. She paid for her drink and left, leaving Michael wondering what the hell he'd done wrong.

  "What did I say?” he asked Rick, who was watching Tanya's departure with a wistful expression.

  Rick blinked, then looked at him. “You've got it written all over your face, my friend."

  "What?"

  "That you're unavailable,” Rick explained with a matter-of-fact shrug. “Chicks are sensitive to stuff like that."

  "But, I'm not—” Michael clamped his lips shut. If he wanted Ashley to think he and Candy were still a couple, then he couldn't go blabbing the truth to bartenders or anyone else on the ship. “She's right. I've got a girlfriend. She had an emergency at the last moment, so she had to back out. Give me another shot, will you?"

  Rick happily complied. “So, how long have you and your ex-wife been divorced?"

  Michael tipped the glass and swallowed the entire contents. It burned a satisfying path along his throat and made his eyes water. How many more would it take? Two? Three? “Two years,” he said, shoving the glass in Rick's direction again.

  "And how long have you been with your current girlfriend?"

  He had to think hard. “Um, six or seven months.” It could have been four. Or twelve. Another reason Candy had jumped ship.

  Rick poured the whiskey. “What color are her eyes?"

  Without thinking, Michael said, “Blue. Sometimes violet. When she gets mad, sometimes they turn a deep gray."

  He was staring into his whiskey when Rick asked somberly, “And what color are your ex's eyes?"

  "I just told you—” Michael looked up at the bartender. Shock hummed along his nerve endings. At that moment, he wanted to plant his fist right in the center of the smug man's kisser. Instead, he growled, “What the hell are you, my conscience?"

  Rick held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, take it easy! It's pretty obvious you've still got your ex- under your skin.” He shrugged and began wiping the gleaming counter. “Maybe you should take this opportunity to purge yourself."

  "Purge myself?"

  "Yeah. You know.” Rick winked suggestively. “Get her out of your system."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Four

  Ashley nearly jumped out of her skin when the cabin door crashed open. “Michael!"

  "In the flesh,” he drawled, shutting the door. His eyes held a glittery quality she couldn't define. “Looks like you and me are stuck with each other, babe."

  "Don't call me babe. What do you mean, stuck with each other? No way!” The idea didn't just fill her with dismay, it terrified her.

  But she wasn't about to let him know that. Oh, how he would gloat if he knew how afraid she was of him. Not afraid physically—never that—but afraid of him emotionally. Sexually. Big time.

  Michael leaned his back against the door, his hands behind him. He studied her long enough to make her nipples pucker in reaction. Ashley quickly crossed her arms over her breasts, cursing her body's betrayal.

  "They don't have another cabin, sweetheart."

  "I'm not your—” Ashley closed her eyes and mentally counted to ten. Finally, when she could trust herself to speak, she said, “Michael, there is no way in hell I'm staying in this cabin with you for six nights and seven days."

  Softly, Michael taunted, “What's the matter, you chicken? Can't trust yourself around me? Afraid you might enjoy my company?” He pushed away from the door and started walking toward her, his eyes dark with intent.

  Ashley hastily vacated the bed and moved around him to the door. He turned, a mocking smile on his handsome face.

  She glared at him. “There has to be another cabin. Maybe you didn't stress the importance—"

  "Oh, I stressed it, all right. Stressed it loud and clear, but it didn't do any good. There is no cabin available, so you're stuck with me."

  She couldn't be stuck with Michael. The idea was not only out of the question, but totally impossible. She scrambled for the doorknob, found it, and yanked the door open. “I'll talk to the person in charge myself."

  "That would be Miss Beech in housekeeping, up on deck two. Knock yourself out. In the meantime, I'll just wait right here ... in my cabin.” He turned to the bed and swung back around. “By the way, do you still sleep on the right side of the bed?"

  Ashley couldn't get the door shut fast enough and nearly clipped her heels trying. Then and only then did she let out a shaky breath.

  Michael was insane if he thought she was going to share a cabin with him. This Miss Beech person would just have to come up with another cabin. If Ashley had to bribe her, she would. She had the money, and she was just desperate enough to use it for her own gain.

  After asking a steward for directions, Ashley made her way quickly to the upper deck. She found Miss Beech in her tiny office and came right to the point. “There's been a mix-up, I'm afraid. I'm supposed to have a cabin to myself, but you've got me paired with Mr. Kavanagh."

  Miss Beech blinked at her, then calmly removed her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. Finally, she looked at Ashley with studied patience. “It's like I told Mr. Kavanagh, I can't just give you a cabin because you've had a fight—"

  "Miss Beech, Michael and I have been divorced for two years—"

  "I'm sorry to hear that, but glad you're making an effort to patch things up—"

  "We are not making an effort to patch things up!” Ashley realized her voice had risen and quickly lowered her tone. “Look, you've got to give me another cabin. I cannot stay with him.” Ashley no longer cared how desperate she sounded. “He's—he's ... my fiancé wouldn't understand the situation.” Which, Ashley suspected, was what Michael hoped!

  "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

  The woman sounded final, but Ashley was too desperate to give up. “I want to speak to the captain."

  To her chagrin, Miss Beech laughed. “Oh, you can't. Even if you could, he would know nothing about cabin arrangements. That's my job."

  There was nothing left to do but offer a bribe. Feeling like a criminal, Ashley dug into her jean pocket and pulled out h
er emergency cash which was somewhere in the two hundred dollar range. She slapped it down on the desk. “Is that enough? If it isn't, I have more in my cabin."

  Miss Beech didn't even glance at the money. “Even if I could come up with an empty cabin—which I can't—I wouldn't take your bribe. I'm sorry."

  Ashley hated to admit defeat, she really did. But this appeared to be one of those times she had no choice in the matter. Mumbling an ungracious thank you, she gathered her bribe and left the impossible woman's office. She didn't want to return to the cabin and Michael, not while their recent ‘encounter’ as she preferred to call it, was still fresh in her mind.

  Not to mention her body, which tightened each and every time she thought about him inside of her. Desperate to escape her illicit thoughts, Ashley followed the corridor signs directing her to the Coconut Lounge. She wasn't much of a drinker, but right now she was determined to do whatever it took—as long as it dulled her electrified senses. What was it about Michael, anyway? Tom never made her feel this ... agitated.

  Which was exactly why she loved him. With Tom, she didn't have to worry about heartaches and unsatisfied aches in unmentionable places, which led to sleepless nights and tear-soaked pillows.

  No, she would never go there again. It was total insanity.

  "Can I get you something?"

  Ashley gave a start at the bartender's question. She smiled and shook her head. “Sorry, I was daydreaming. I'll have something strong. Surprise me."

  "Okay, you asked for it."

  The bartender, whose short, cropped hair had obviously been bleached platinum and whose flirty blue eyes betrayed his youth, made a flourish of mixing her drink. His hands moved so fast on the various bottles that Ashley's head was already spinning by the time he handed her the pink concoction.