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Authors: Beth Ciotta

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BOOK: All About Evie
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My sexually deprived body exploded with decadent sensations as he kissed and stroked me to a mind-blowing, limb-melting climax.

My knees buckled. I moaned into his mouth and sagged against his body. He laid me on the bed, stifled a sneeze and I knew it would go no further. I couldn't dredge up the energy to be upset. I knew, deep down in my fibrillating heart, this was only a teaser.

So much for not mixing business with pleasure.

He disappeared into the bathroom and my warped brain cells fired up a medley of Bond theme songs—“Goldfinger”—Ha!—followed by “Nobody Does It Better,” and “All Time High.”

Exhausted and deliciously sated, I closed my eyes and gave over to thoughts of Pussy Galore, Operation Grand Slam and a spy with a license to thrill.

Dear Diary, My life doesn't suck.

CHAPTER TWENTY

D
AY THREE OF THE CRUISE
. Four days after meeting Arch. Life was looking up.

Viva la orgasm.

I woke up feeling refreshed. Energized.
Optimistic.
I'd slept better than I had in months. If I dreamed, I don't remember. I think Arch melted my brain with that white-hot sex.

We didn't speak of it. The orgasm, that is. Arch, I assumed, was being a gentleman. Or maybe he was kicking himself. He'd broken his policy, mixed business with pleasure. As for me, even though I was ecstatic, my old-fashioned upbringing kept me from verbalizing my reawakened appreciation for foreplay.

But I thought about it.

A lot.

I tried not to obsess. But, hey. Come on. Arch was hot. Getting pawed by Arch, a wham, bam, third-base slam in the middle of the night, was hot. I'm pretty sure the sexy episode was on his mind, too, because I caught him looking at me five or ten times while we readied for the day.

One of us, I decided while tying the laces of my Keds, was going to have to break the tension. I voted for me. It had been a long time since I'd felt this vibrant and motivated. Taking charge would only enhance the rush. I steeled myself when he stepped out of the bathroom in full Charles regalia sans the tinted glasses. I could do this, especially dressed as Sugar. This morning our united energy and optimism bubbled through my system like expensive champagne.

Giddy with bravado, I locked gazes with Arch. “About last night,” we said at the same time. We laughed, the ice broken, then proceeded to step on each other's lines.

“It was—”

“—a mistake,” he said.

“—amazing,” I said.

Pregnant pause.

We took stock of each other and our conflicting attitudes. The mood shifted from awkward to jovial to tense in ten seconds flat.

“This is complicated enough without making it personal, Sunshine.”

“It would be less complicated if you cleared some things up for me.” Suddenly I was thinking less about the mind-blowing orgasm and more about this mind-boggling gig. Arch's tight-lipped expression prompted me to fight fire with fire. I folded my arms under my pumped-up cleavage. “Okay. You want to keep things strictly business? Then I want some professional courtesy.”

“Meaning?”

“I'm not leaving this room unless you shed some light on this gig. I hate being uninformed. Not knowing what's expected of me.”

If Michael had been more communicative, maybe I could have changed my ways, my appearance, sought marriage counseling. Some honesty, some direction would've been nice. I never suspected he was falling out of love with me. Never saw the signs of an affair. God, I was naive. Or dense. Maybe both.

“I
cannae
—”

“Basics. That's all I'm asking for. I don't need names. You don't have to divulge any secrets of national importance.”

He pressed his lips together to suppress a smile or a curse. I didn't know which nor did I care.

I palmed my forehead, closed my eyes and groaned. “I feel an excruciating headache coming on. You'll have to make merry yourself today.” I peered at him through thick, lowered lashes, my lips curled in a taunting grin. “Except Charles wouldn't leave Sugar suffering alone in the cabin, now would he?”

“You're bluffing.”

I plopped my butt on the bed, toed off my Keds. “It's not like we have a contract. I didn't sign anything. We're operating on faith and it's been pretty one-sided. Time for you to even out the percentage, Arch. Trust me when I say, the more I know about a part, a client, the better my performance.”

He braced his hands on his hips. “The more you know about
this
job, the higher your stress level, the greater the chances you'll crack out of turn.”

“What?”

“Miss a cue.”

My back went up. “I've never missed a cue in my life.”

“Never?”

I pursed my lips, scanned my memory. “Well, maybe once. During a performance in regional theater. But I had a high fever and the heat from the par cans only heightened my delirium.”

He grinned and suddenly the air crackled with another kind of tension. Sexy, sizzling tension that fried my brain cells and melted my bones.

“You're cute when you're cocky, Sunshine.”

I raised a brow. “If you think you're going to charm me into leaving this room without some specifics, you're in for a big disappointment, buster.”

The grin widened and his gorgeous eyes danced with amusement.

I applauded myself for not sliding off the bed in a pool of wanton lust.

“The person I need to hook just now is a small fish,” he said, knocking me off balance with the unexpected revelation. “He'll lead me to my primary mark, a vicious shark who preys on the gullible, especially the elderly.”

People like Martha and her cronies. “Bastard.”

“Aye.”

“And you're going to blow him out of the water.”

“Something like that.”

“The greater good.” I hopped to my bare feet and paced, my senses vibrating with curiosity and excitement. “Okay. So how are we going to hook this small fish?”

“By making him believe that we're rich and gullible.” He pushed up the brim of his Panama hat and calmly watched as I wore a path in the carpet. “You were bang on last night, Sunshine. I want him to think that you're bored in Connecticut and happy as a pig in mud on this floating party.”

I pumped my fist in the air. “Yes!” Okay. That was smug. But I couldn't help it. I was proud of myself for making at least one correct deduction. Besides, there was that whole cute-when-cocky thing. Maybe I was turning him on a little. He'd certainly revved my engine by confiding in me. Every revelation stimulated my brain and body and ratcheted up my confidence.

“I want him to believe,” Arch went on, “that I'm so smitten, I'd do anything, spend a fortune if need be, to keep you content.”

Hence the public affection. I absorbed that information, nodded, trying my best to keep my mind on business, not pleasure. It's the first time he'd been forthcoming with details and I wanted to milk his generous mood. “About this small fish. You mentioned he's in hospitality or entertainment. Have you narrowed it down at all?”

He worked his jaw and I knew I'd gotten just about all of the specifics I was going to get. For now. “The shore excursion director is a likely suspect,” he said. “And Beau.”

“The bartender? But he seems so nice.”

“Being nice is a brilliant way to win someone's confidence, yeah?”

My cheeks flushed and I cursed my naiveté. “Anyone else?”

“The assistant cruise director.”

“Gavin?” I swallowed my disbelief. Neither Beau nor Gavin struck me as disreputable. I hadn't had much contact with the shore excursion guy. Easier to believe he was the stinky small fish. “Anyone else?”

“Sure. The dance instructor who couldn't keep his hands off of you. The pianist who knows four bars of any song ever written. The chatty steward who replenishes the fruit basket in our room every day or any one of the several bartenders or waiters or…” He angled his head. “You get the picture, yeah?”

“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “So much for narrowing it down.”

Arch readjusted his hat and slid on his glasses, effectively ending the discussion.

I stepped into my Keds, wanting him to know that his faith in me had paid off. Jazzed, I pushed for one more bit of information. “How will we know when he's hooked?”

“When he offers us the chance of a lifetime.”

 

T
HE PLAN FOR THE MORNING
was basic and I felt inspired simply because Arch, who I now knew was absolutely not in entertainment but most probably in espionage, had trusted me with a few details of our mission.

We divided our morning efforts for maximum coverage. Pad and pen in hand,
Charles
visited various lounges under the guise of outlining a new book. Mostly he sat at the bar, drank scotch, conversed with bartenders, servers and featured musicians, while intermittently jotting notes in a leather journal. I participated in midmorning fun and games, bouncing in from time to time to report my adventures and to torture him with playful kisses. Perfectly legit. I was Sugar, not me.

As Sugar, I socialized and frolicked on a grand scale. A Ping-Pong tournament, a five-minute makeover. I even braved a Bachata dance lesson with Fred and Ginger. Our mark was in hospitality or entertainment, Fred's area, and Fred was definitely slimy.

Knowing what I knew now, which wasn't much, I regretted cutting him off last night when he suggested a rendezvous. What if he was our man? What if he was going to seduce me and pitch the deal of a lifetime?

Unfortunately, Fred regarded me with wary eyes, pairing me with bowlegged Mr. Pachinko, whose wife had opted for a game of canasta. Still, I blessed the smarmy dance instructor with a few flirty smiles and by lesson's end he'd promised me a dance at the karaoke party. I wasn't sure if we'd be back in time for the party, as we were going ashore to do some sightseeing in San Juan. But maybe I'd run into him after.

Martha-of-the-two-left-feet, who'd somehow hooked up with a much younger man—and I mean like thirty years younger—informed me that she'd be at the party. She'd been practicing her disco steps.
Burn, blue-hair, burn
.

Speaking of infernos, an inextinguishable fire raged inside of me all day, fueling boundless energy and enthusiasm. It wasn't because I'd finally gotten some, well, a little, after a year in the no-man zone—although I'm sure that put
some
spring in my step. No, this was different. Purpose, I guess. My country, or let's just say, “the good guys” since this was for the greater good, needed me. My acting and singing talents were in demand. I was a valuable asset. No one cared that I was over forty. No one treated me like an over-the-hill has-been.

Then again, I wasn't acting or thinking like an over-the-hill has-been. Sugar wasn't insecure or cynical. She lived life to the fullest, and damn anyone who found fault with her quirky exuberance—not that anyone did.

Throughout the day, my mind bounced from one concern to another, processing, assessing. Midday, just after changing into suitable clothes for the shore excursion, I slipped away from Arch and into the Internet Lounge. No update from my brother, though that didn't come as a shock. I could almost hear him.
Chill, Evie. I'm handling it.

Okay. Sure. Whatever.

With my family it was always one thing or another. My parents' separation, I decided for the sake of my sanity and TMJ, was just
another,
and Christopher would handle it because Christopher was a problem solver. I massaged my jaw and clicked on an e-mail from Jayne.

 

Atomic kisses with muscled, tattooed dude? OMG! So, like, tongue and everything, right?

Moving on to your gorilla and breast question…this is just one school of thought, but if you're dreaming about apes then beware of a mischief maker in your business or social circle. Unless the gorilla was docile. Then the dream is forecasting a new and unusual friend.

Really, Evie. I need more details.

Anyhoo, let's talk breasts. Did the dream involve someone laying their head on your breast? If so, this means you're primed to meet a new, valuable friend. I'm seeing a theme here. Otherwise, dreaming about boobs in general is a good omen.

 

I reread Jayne's analysis, my already awesome mood brightening. Anyone looking at me surely needed sunglasses. Obviously, Arch was the new and unusual friend. The good omen thing was a surprise. If one put stock in dream interpretation, which I sort of did, then I had every reason to believe good things were in my future. I very badly needed to believe that. So I memorized Jayne's e-mail and stroked her ring for good measure.
Trust in the chrysoprase. It attracts abundance and promotes successful new ventures.

An abundance of orgasms would be nice, especially with Arch. As for the new venture, maybe I had a shot at this spy thing. What? Kate Jackson made an incredible transition in
Scarecrow and Mrs. King
. A secret agent accidentally involved the divorced housewife in one of his covert missions. She proved herself valuable and by the end of the series she was a full-fledged agent. Yes, I know that was television. But who says life can't imitate art?

The loudspeaker jerked me out of my daydream, alerting those going ashore to report to their designated meeting place. Not wanting to be harried and late—been there, done that with the lifeboat drill—I whipped off a quick response to Jayne. Then I clicked on an e-mail from Nicole.

 

So did you boink him yet?

 

God, I love my friends.

BOOK: All About Evie
11.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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