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  But Ashley wasn't looking back. She was forging ahead, determined to run from this crazy attraction between them. Well, she could run, but she couldn't hide, Michael thought, rubbing the back of his neck. Finally, his anger melted away and he found himself chuckling ruefully. He'd forgotten how alive he felt around her. She excited him in more ways than one.

  He turned to the railing and gripped it, staring out across the moonlit sea. By the time he returned to the cabin, he suspected he'd find her wearing enough clothes to smother an elephant. She'd probably pretend to be asleep, hugging the edge of the king size bed.

  He never had and never would force himself on her, and she knew it, which told him that she didn't trust herself any more than she trusted him. After another half hour of stargazing, Michael made his way to their cabin. He let himself in as quietly as he could and locked the door. She'd left the bathroom light on and the door ajar for him, he noted, his gaze going to the bed.

  There was a dark mound in the middle of the mattress. A very large, unidentifiable mound.

  Frowning, he walked closer.

  Pillows. She had stacked half a dozen pillows in the middle of the bed to form a barrier between them.

  He shook his head, smiling as he got undressed.

  Completely.

  * * * *

  Ashley felt something heavy pressing against her chest. She came awake with a startled scream locked in her throat, thrusting at the weight on top of her.

  It was the pillows, she realized finally. The barricade she'd made had toppled over. In her panic, she had pushed most of them to the floor. Slowly, she sat up. The bathroom door was cracked and the light still on; it cast a thin sliver of light on the bed. She peered over the remaining layer of pillows.

  Her heart slammed against her chest at the sight of a naked Michael stretched out on the bed. He had one arm flung over his head onto the pillow and the other stretched along his side. His hand cradled his semi-hard erection.

  It was the way he'd always slept. She'd teased him unmercifully about ‘guarding’ the family jewels in his sleep.

  Sternly, she dragged her gaze from the unsettling sight and onto his sleeping face. Her breath caught. He was so beautiful, she thought, her throat aching. How many times had she watched him sleep? A thousand? She could watch him for hours.

  Had watched him for hours.

  Now they were divorced. Strangers to each other. Committed to other people. Yet here they slept, together in the same bed an ocean away from the people they claimed to love.

  No, that wasn't right. She did love Tom. Yes, she was attracted to Michael. Desired him sexually. But that didn't mean she loved Michael. It could never mean that. The sex had always been incredible. Dynamite.

  And was it any wonder she was obsessed with it now? She and Tom didn't sleep together. Never had. In fact, Michael was her first and her last. She could honestly—although painfully—admit that she missed it.

  She would die before she would admit any of those facts to him. Oh, he would love to have that kind of power over her! She still couldn't figure out what he was doing on this cruise. It could have been a coincidence, but Ashley highly doubted it. The odds of Michael deciding to take the same cruise at the same time were about as fantastic as the odds of her winning the lottery.

  But she had won the lottery.

  "Take a picture,” Michael whispered in a sleep-rough voice, making her jump. “It'll last longer."

  To cover her embarrassment over getting caught ogling him, she said, “I haven't heard that old saying since grade school."

  He smiled. “Me, either.” He shifted suddenly, thrusting a pillow behind his back and sitting up in the bed.

  From the corner of her eye, she could see his erection growing. She steadfastly kept her gaze on his face. The light wasn't great, but there was enough to show that Michael was now good and awake.

  And she had destroyed the makeshift barrier between them.

  His gaze roamed over her, reminding Ashley that she wore a next-to-nothing nightie. She hadn't packed anything comfortable or concealing, since she'd had seduction on her mind.

  Only the seduction had involved Tom, not Michael.

  "I was convinced you'd be wearing flannels,” he said, making no attempt to cover himself.

  He was shameless, Ashley thought with an inward groan. And so was she. Her nipples were poking holes through the sheer gauze of her nightie, and the crotchless, matching panties did nothing to absorb the sudden moisture that gathered between her legs.

  "Earlier ... when I was inside you, I nearly lost my mind."

  Ashley swallowed hard. She found it suddenly impossible to draw a deep breath. And impossible to move away.

  "Afterward, I couldn't stop thinking about it.” His voice was deep and sexy, husky with desire. It turned the moisture between her legs into a drench. Ashley bit her lip and shifted, squeezing her legs together.

  "Just shut up, Michael. Please.” Oh, what a pitiful, weak request! She turned her face into the pillow, aching all over. Aching for Michael. Only Michael.

  Michael, of course, ignored her plea. He continued to topple her puny defenses with whispered, sexy words of love play.

  "All day long I thought of how tight you felt. How hot you were. How wonderful it was to be inside you again.” His sigh sounded more like a groan. “I can tell you've been lying in the tanning bed. You're nipples are darker than I remember. Unbelievably sexy."

  "Stop."

  "And your mouth. God, your mouth! It's made for kissing and nibbling and sucking—"

  "Michael. Don't."

  "Don't stop? I don't intend to. You've known all day this was going to happen. We've both known it. There's no reason to torture ourselves any longer. I want to be inside you ... and you want me to be inside you. We are hot together ... dynamite, Ash. We don't just come, we explode. Tell me it isn't so."

  She tried. She couldn't.

  "Give me your hand."

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She gave him her hand. He guided it to his erection, curled her fingers around it, and began to rub her palm against his silky skin. The heat burned into her, spreading its delicious warmth along her arm and into the rest of her body.

  She reached out and grabbed a pillow, throwing it to the floor. She grabbed another, and another, until there was nothing between them. He pulled her against him, suddenly urgent as he found her mouth and kissed her until she was mindless. Within seconds they were frantic to get closer, touch each other, feel each other, taste each other.

  She took him in her mouth and he growled once, twice, before pulling her roughly away. Then he retaliated by lifting her high onto his shoulders and planting his hot mouth right against her throbbing core.

  She had less control, convulsing around him within seconds. The orgasm went on and on, and just when she thought she would die, Michael settled her onto his erection and thrust her downward, impaling her to the hilt.

  "This is heaven,” he panted.

  Ashley watched him as he threw back his head and clenched his jaw, fighting his release. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of letting go. Not until she was exhausted and begging him to stop. Still watching him, she flattened her hands against his granite-hard chest and curled her fingers.

  He moaned, but didn't move. She leaned forward and scraped her teeth across his nipple, first one, then the other. He moaned again and squeezed her hips.

  She clenched her inner muscles around him, then slowly rose, smiling when he opened his eyes to glare at her. He went after her, thrusting hard and deep, bringing her back to him.

  "You're killing me,” he growled, suckling her breasts until she whimpered.

  With a move that stole her breath, he flipped her onto her back and came down on her, still inside her. Now he had full control, and it was Ashley's turn to plead as he began a torturous rhythm that had her squirming and begging him to go deeper, faster.

  And then he did that swivel move with his hips, and s
he was spinning out of control as another orgasm snagged her and shot her in space.

  Michael muffled her scream with his mouth, and she felt him began to shudder. He pulled away and threw back his head. “Ahhh ... Ashley!"

  She watched him, and her heart seemed to stop at the sheer beauty of his release.

  Michael was right; they didn't just come together, they exploded together.

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  Chapter Six

  The sound of voices outside her cabin door startled Ashley awake. She sat up, staring at the chaos around her in complete confusion. It looked as if she'd had an overnight party with her girlfriends, and a pillow fight had been the main attraction.

  Heat rushed into her face as she recalled what had really happened last night.

  With Michael.

  Oh, Lord. Definitely with Michael. Deliciously with Michael. She should regret it, but she didn't.

  But it wouldn't happen again. She'd gotten him out of her system, all right, just as the bartender had suggested. Now she could go about the business of enjoying her cruise. And after the cruise, she would marry Tom, Michael would marry Candy, and everything would be fine.

  They were, after all, incompatible in almost every way. Okay, okay. So they were dynamite together in bed. Michael was her first. How did she know it wouldn't be the same with Tom?

  Ashley groaned and shook her head as she got out of bed and kicked her way to the shower. She knew because when Tom kissed her, she didn't melt. So what? Who said a body had to see Fourth of July fireworks every time they kissed? Such a thing could quickly become exhausting.

  She turned on the shower and removed the shreds of her nightie, unable to stop the smile that came and went at the memory of Michael literally stripping her naked. He'd gotten his toe caught in the hem of the garment, and that was that.

  Nobody messed with Michael's big toe. He'd broken that same digit three times. If you wanted to see a grown man cry, then step on Michael's toe.

  It wasn't until she finished her shower and was searching through her wardrobe that she saw the note on the nightstand. It was propped against one of the sandals she'd worn the day before.

  Stomach quivering, she picked it up and tore open the envelope, compliments of Funstar cruises. It was Michael's surprisingly neat handwriting, all right. The message was brief and crystal clear. "Ashley—I know you're probably thinking the same thing, so I'll say it first. Last night was dynamite, and I can't bring myself to regret it, but you were right. It's wrong. You're engaged to Tom and I'm involved with Candy. So let's chalk it up to a rogue itch and try to remain on good terms the remainder of the trip, okay?

  It was signed, Yours truly, Michael.

  Rogue itch? That was a first for Ashley, but it fit them to a T. They weren't compatible, hardly liked each other, if the truth be told. So what else could it be but a rogue itch? And last night they had scratched that itch. End of story.

  "I'm so over you,” Ashley muttered, crumpling the note and pitching it in the direction of the trashcan. She missed, of course, but what did it matter, considering the mess the room was in? If the maid possessed an ounce of Cajun blood, she'd probably put a curse on them.

  Maybe she'd be willing to teach Ashley a little voodoo.

  By the time she was dressed and ready to go to breakfast, her resolve was iron clad. If Michael had hoped to hurt her with that little note, then he would be disappointed. She had been thinking the same thing. So what if he'd beaten her to the punch?

  To strengthen her resolve even further, she would call Tom right after breakfast. Yes, hearing his voice was just the medicine she needed.

  When Ashley opened the cabin door, she found the hallway crowded with stewards and official looking men in white uniforms. In the middle of the crowd was Birdie, looking agitated and near tears. Bart stood beside her, his arm firmly around her shoulders.

  Alarmed, Ashley pushed her way to Birdie's side. The couple was eccentric, but they seemed harmless enough and they were not only her neighbors but her dinner companions. “What's going on, Birdie?"

  Birdie sniffed. “Someone broke into our cabin and stole my grandmother's brooch, that's what's going on! It was a priceless heirloom."

  One of the stewards patted Birdie on the shoulder, his voice sympathetic. “I'm sorry, ma'am. We've got your description of the brooch, and we'll be changing the lock on your door immediately. Maybe whoever took it will have a change of heart and return it."

  "Let's go to breakfast, darling,” Bart said, gently leading her through the crowd. Catching his meaningful glance, Ashley flanked Birdie's left side and took her arm.

  "I'll walk with you, if you don't mind,” Ashley said, concerned over the woman's pallor. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost. And who could blame her? Birdie was seventy if she was a day, and she'd said the brooch belonged to her grandmother.

  Which meant the piece of jewelry was definitely an antique. Then there were the feelings of violation, knowing that someone had been rifling through her things. Ashley shuddered. She'd never been robbed, but she could imagine how Birdie felt.

  As they approached the dining room, Ashley braced herself. If by chance Michael thought she'd be crushed by his note, then he was in for a surprise.

  * * * *

  "Are you enjoying your cruise, Michael?” Tanya asked the moment he settled into his appointed seat at the table.

  He accepted the coffee a passing waiter offered before replying. “What's not to enjoy? The weather's great, the food is superb, and the women are gorgeous.” She blushed, and he smiled, but behind his smile he was grimacing.

  On the second day of the cruise, Tanya had opted for short shorts and a crocheted halter-top that revealed more of her breasts than it covered. She'd piled her honey blonde hair onto of her head in a loose, careless knot that made her look young, fresh, and sexy.

  A casual glance around proved Michael's theory that there wasn't a man in the dining room that wasn't fantasizing about Tanya.

  With one exception. He wasn't fantasizing about Tanya. In fact, he wasn't the slightest bit attracted to the blonde bombshell.

  He caught sight of Ashley entering the dining area with Birdie and Bart. Raw desire shot into his groin, igniting a fire that had apparently only been slumbering. With a muffled oath, Michael grabbed his napkin and dropped it into his lap.

  Ashley wore a sunny yellow summer dress with a plunging neckline and a belted waist. Her tanned legs were bare, right down to her matching sandals and painted toes. She wore her rich brown hair loose around her shoulders, and a shade of lipstick that made her lips look ripe and full.

  Just hours ago, he'd sucked on her little painted toes and nibbled on those luscious lips. In fact, he couldn't remember a part of her body that he hadn't nibbled, tasted, or licked. How many love-bites had he left in his wake? A dozen? Two dozen? In the bright light of day, he wanted to take off her dress and examine every inch of her body.

  Michael groaned again and dragged his gaze away. He found Tanya watching him with raised brows and a wistful little smile on her pouty mouth.

  "Damn,” she said, then sighed. “That's what I'm talking about. I want a man who looks at me like that when we go on our second honeymoon.” She laughed and shook her head. “In fact, I don't think I've ever had a man look at me the way you look at your wife."

  He had to swallow a denial, reminding himself that it was his fault. After Bart and Birdie catching them in the act, he had instinctively sought to protect Ashley by letting them believe they were married.

  "Good morning, everyone,” Bart said as the trio reached the table. With infinite tenderness, he led a pale-faced Birdie to her chair. Ashley took her seat next to Michael's, accidentally bumping his thigh with her own.

  Michael let out a soft hiss, and his erection grew beneath his napkin. He knew that he wouldn't be one of the first to leave the table when breakfast was over. Get her out of his system? Ha! He felt the same this morning as he had before their wild
night!

  "Birdie, is something wrong?” Tanya asked, passing Bart the cream. “You look pale."

  Bart poured cream into his wife's coffee, then his own. “We've been robbed, I'm afraid. They took Birdie's grandmother's brooch."

  Birdie's eyes filled with tears. She grabbed her napkin and touched it to the corners of her eyes. “It must have happened while Bart and I were out taking our morning stroll around the ship."

  "What did I miss?” Deckland inquired as he took his seat.

  Bart began to fill him in, and Michael took the opportunity to look his fill of Ashley. She leaned forward to get the tiny pitcher of cream, causing her daring dress to gap.

  Michael saw a trail of love-bites along the inner side of her left breast. He tried to muffle the groan that rose in his throat, but he wasn't in time.

  The sound startled Ashley. She jerked around, knocking her napkin to the floor between them. With a deep sense of foreboding, Michael watched her bend over to retrieve the napkin. She paused on the way up, her gaze fixed on his lap.

  She lifted her eyes to his pained expression, her brow creasing in concern. “What's wrong, darling? Is that nasty old rogue itch bothering you again?"

  * * * *

  "Tom?"

  "Um, no. Just a moment."

  Ashley frowned, trying to put a face to the groggy male voice that had answered Tom's phone. He didn't have a roommate, and the voice wasn't familiar.

  She plugged her free ear with her finger, straining to hear over the casino noises behind her. There was a slight rustling sound on the other end, and then Tom came on the line.

  He sounded just as groggy. “Hello?"

  "Tom? Did I wake you?” And who's there with you? It wasn't a woman, so why was she concerned? But she knew why. Tom lived in a one-bedroom apartment, with the bedroom a loft room above the living room, and if the guy who had answered the phone had been sleeping on the sofa downstairs, he wouldn't have had time to get the phone to Tom that quickly.