The Pleasure Trip

Rita debated taking a chance for once and sending him a drink. But as the music died away and the audience erupted into applause, she warned herself to get her head on straight and find Jayne to help with her costume change while a singing duo took the stage between dance numbers. The other dancers’ next outfits weren’t Rita Frazer Originals, but Jayne’s was. Because Jayne played the central character in a very fluffy musical drama involving lots of feathers and coy smiles, her outfit could be different. Better. Hand sewn by Rita for a little extra spotlight.

Tearing her gaze away from the superstud with dark disappointment in his eyes, Rita waited for Jayne at the edge of the stage, costume already in hand. Too bad Jayne was still nowhere in sight.

Damn it. What was her sister thinking?

Praying Danielle Divine—aka Danielle Domineering—wouldn’t notice the absence, Rita waited to see her sister’s Veronica Lake-style red waves bob around the corner.

And waited.

Until a bad feeling crept into her veins, chilling her skin and setting her every cynical, wise big-sister instinct on edge. Sprinting around the back of the staging area to another dressing room, Rita scanned the small expanse of lighted mirrors and makeup tables for a glimpse of Jayne.

To no avail.

Heart pounding, she mentally shuffled the image of Jayne’s hopeful face with the fact that Horatio the loser blackjack dealer wasn’t in his usual seat tonight. Hadn’t Jayne said she was ready to get out of showbiz?

And hadn’t Rita known damn well that couldn’t be good?

Hightailing it to the other side of the stage where half the dancers were already naked and shimmying their way into their next outfit, Rita found Jayne’s dressing table graced by a glittery star, her duffel bag beneath it. The bag was unusually light given all the stuff Jayne normally hauled around. There was no purse, no bulging makeup case. Just some tissues, hairbrush, masking tape and—a note?

The dread that had been knotting in her stomach traveled up her throat in a burning path.

Don’t be mad at me, big sister! You know this routine inside and out and let’s face it—no one deserves the spotlight as much as you tonight. I had an urgent appointment in St. Kitts because Horatio really wanted to—ready?—elope!!!

Love and kisses,

Jayne

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no freaking way.

Rita didn’t need to run to the nearest porthole to know the big ship had already cleared St. Kitts harbor by a mile. Jayne must have slipped off the boat with seconds to spare considering Rita had seen her in the shower just twenty minutes before the boat set sail. Jayne had timed her defection flawlessly—no surprise there considering her perfect stage routines and the fact that she had every male security guard aboard the Venus wrapped around her finger.

Damn! Shoving aside the wealth of worries for her sister and more than a little resentment for herself, Rita’s fingers tightened around the leopard-print notepaper in one hand, Jayne’s dancing costume in the other.

With performers already lining up, Rita had zero time to make a decision. In fact, she didn’t realize she’d actually made one at all until her clothes were sliding off and she found herself jamming one foot after another into the leg holes of the barely-there feathered concoction.

She could dance, right?

She’d sat in on all the same damn tap, jazz and ballet classes as Jayne until she’d emancipated herself from Margie’s stage-mother stranglehold. Plus, for three months running Rita had rehearsed all of Jayne’s dances so she could get a feel for how the costumes needed to be crafted to keep them fluid and feminine.

Shoving her bare feet into strappy rhinestone sandals that went with Jayne’s ensemble, Rita nearly toppled over as Missy rushed by, headdress askew as Sammy the Somersaulting Albanian tried unsuccessfully to right the heavy tiara.

“Can you help her, Rita?” Sammy whispered, ever mindful of Danielle who wouldn’t hesitate to axe any dancer who couldn’t hold her own.

Or any dancer who did something really, really stupid like elope in the middle of the show.

“I’ll take over, Sammy. Thanks.” Rita let the wiry acrobat off the hook as she picked up speed fastening her rhinestone top, determined not to flub this. Why was she not surprised Sammy looked endlessly grateful as he hurried away with the fluid grace that came naturally to gymnasts?

“What are you doing?” Missy jammed fistfuls of hair into the headdress with no success. “Where’s Jayne?”

What could she say? Jayne’s sucking face with the worst mistake of her life while our careers go up in flames? Yanking her own headpiece off a hook over Jayne’s star-spangled dressing table, Rita plunked the tiara on her head.

“She had an emergency, but that’s just between us, okay?” Snitching a bobby pin from the jumble of accessories on the table, Rita thrust it into Missy’s long blond curls and anchored the heavy headpiece to her scalp, the need to lend a hand still strong even when she had no time to help. “Don’t worry about Danielle once you’re onstage. Just dance.”

As if she had time to dispense career advice while undertaking the stupidest scheme of her life. Even Jayne had never been this impulsive.

Okay, taking into account eloping with Horatio, maybe she had.

“Places, ladies!” Danielle’s throaty call for action multiplied the butterflies in Rita’s stomach.

The last thing she needed was for Danielle to see her in Jayne’s costume. With the headdress on, there was a chance she’d never notice. Thank God every Frazer woman had been given the same five feet ten inches to work with.

She had to at least try to get past Danielle for the sake of Jayne’s job, which wouldn’t be here for her when she came back—oh God, if she came back—without a little intervention.

The music changed as the performers lined up for the scene Jayne called the Wicked Angel. It looked like one big T-and-A fest to Rita’s eyes, but Jayne insisted it was a fallen woman with a heart of gold act. Well, fallen woman with a heart of gold and sexual appetite the size of Texas since the dance involved substantial writhing around on the floor. Though the pastel feathers made the writhing look more innocent, according to Jayne.

Hence the Wicked Angel.

Rita had never explored her inner angel, preferring to barge through life being blunt and direct and simply asking for what she wanted. But tonight she’d play simpering and coy for all it was worth in order to save Jayne’s paycheck.

She just hoped she didn’t fall off her heels. Or turn left when everyone else turned right and possibly high kick her neighbor right in the schnoz.

All of which had happened to her before in her long and colorful career as her sister’s crappy sidekick.

“Hurry up, Jayne!” Danielle the Destroyer glared at her with a look that would have sent heavyweight boxers running for cover. Thank God the abysmal backstage lighting prevented her from discerning Rita’s features under Jayne’s headdress. “You’re on in five. Four…”

Rita’s bare legs quivered beneath her as she prayed for coordination and knew it wouldn’t come. The only way she’d ever been able to get through a solid dance routine had been to isolate herself in a room all alone. Maybe she could close her eyes and pretend she was alone.

“Three. Two…”

The house lights swirled and changed from moody blues to brazen reds. The music kicked up volume. Her knees knocked so hard she wasn’t sure she could haul herself out there. Closing her eyes would definitely result in her spiked heel planted in someone’s instep.

She’d simply choose a focus point. Meditate the rest of the humongous amphitheater away.

“And you’re on!” Danielle’s threatening growl mingled with the beat in the music that cued the first step.

Where Rita’s eyes promptly alighted on the only focus point in the room that interested her. The one man whose presence just might be the key to saving her feather-covered ass.

CHAPTER TWO

SPECIAL AGENT HARRISON Masters knew damn well he wouldn’t find the answers to his problems by staring through the glass of his empty beer bottle like an amber-colored lens. Then again, he didn’t think he’d find a fluffy white feather there, yet that didn’t stop a downy quill from floating through his field of vision to land with a delicate sigh along the back of his hand.

Hauling his thoughts from his quickly-going-nowhere investigative work, Harrison scratched his nose and shook off the bit of fluff. He took in the extravagant floor show and searched for the source of the feather. Visions of snowy doves circling the all-you-can-eat buffet formed in his brain for all of two seconds before he locked gazes with a redheaded chorus girl in the front row.

And damned if he didn’t get struck by a bolt of lightning.

Heat throbbed through him even as he realized the electric jolt had been a laser image broadcast across the dancers through the haze of fake red fog pumped through the amphitheater. When Harrison had left Naples, Florida, to embark on his first pleasure trip in years—even if he wasn’t quite as interested in the recreation as he pretended—he’d briefly toyed with the idea of a vacation fling.

He hadn’t seen a woman to pique his interest until now, however. The hot-as-hell redhead stared at him as if her life depended on maintaining eye contact—so much so that Harrison couldn’t resist sneaking a look behind him to make sure he wasn’t missing something. Like a seven-foot Martian at his six o’clock.

The bawdy, stripper-style music in the background played a mischievous accompaniment to the women garbed in angelic white feathers and strategically placed rhinestones. One dancer wore little more than a couple of quills over her breasts and a tiny G-string made entirely of red jewels.

Not that Harrison really cared what anyone else wore. He was merely curious to see how the rest of the women measured up to the auburn-haired bombshell with a pinup’s body and mile-long naked legs.

They didn’t.

Whoever this brazen dancer was, she seemed unique in her tendency to look right at an audience member. Him.

And yeah, he noticed. He was male and breathing, after all—and totally freaking free since his girlfriend of one year had dumped him eight weeks ago, leaving him high and dry but making him realize he’d never been all that fired-up about their relationship anyway. Too bad he’d been so busy figuring out his father’s hotel business he’d temporarily inherited—a work world so different from the one he’d trained for—he hadn’t even seen it coming.

Worse, he didn’t really mourn the loss of her so much as the loss of her insights on the hospitality industry. No wonder she’d dumped his sorry ass and started dating the resort’s golf pro, who also happened to be Harrison’s best friend. Past tense.

These days, Harrison didn’t think he would be ready for another serious relationship for a long time, at least until he’d untangled the mess he’d made of the last one. But now that he’d embarked on the cruise to follow his missing ex-girlfriend and a pile of absent cash from the resort that had disappeared along with the golf pro a few weeks later, Harrison wouldn’t mind some nonserious adventure if it happened to sashay his way.

Something he’d bet the redhead could provide.

Settling into his chair at one of the handful of VIP tables up front in the theater, he shoved aside his empty beer bottle and concentrated on the woman onstage. Less made-up than her counterparts, she looked younger and older at the same time. Investigative instincts flared to life, cataloging clues to this woman’s psyche for the best way to get into her head—and possibly under her feathers. There was less sophistication in the loose way she wore her hair and the lack of stage makeup around her eyes. Yet she was no nineteen-year-old college student, not with that intense stare of hers.

This woman had character. Some secrets, maybe.

She shimmied, she sashayed, she spun, her gaze always returning to him. To seduce him? Damn but he’d like to think so.

Loosening his tie by a fraction of an inch, he allowed himself to imagine taking this angel to bed. High, generous breasts supported a jeweled bodice that resembled a feminine version of chain mail. And suddenly he was thirteen years old again, studying the bra catalogs for a hint of nipple.

He hadn’t made time for that kind of frivolous pleasure in the past year since he’d delved into the family business after his father collided with a mountain in a debilitating skiing accident. His dad had been forced into early retirement and his mother now dedicated all her time to his rehabilitation. Helping his family through a crisis had seemed more important than a career that once meant everything to him—even if he’d missed the intellectual thrill of cloak-and-dagger games, the adrenaline rush of tapping into big-league crime rings.

But no matter how much he itched to return to the FBI next week now that he finally had a temporary management team in place, he hadn’t ever let himself screw up with the high-end Naples resort that provided much-needed income for his father’s ongoing medical bills—far more than Harrison would ever see as a special agent. And he’d been doing a damn good job as the makeshift manager until Sonia had disappeared during a cruise on the Venus last month.

His instincts had twitched, but he’d wrestled them into submission. Until a considerable amount of cash vanished from the Masters Corporation accounts shortly thereafter. Then, he couldn’t write off his concerns as sour grapes or even misplaced longing for some intrigue in a life grown tedious. He’d hired the temporary management team to ease his transition back to his work as an agent, then he’d driven all the way across Florida to jump on a boat and find out what sort of Bermuda Triangle effect was taking place in the Caribbean these days.

He wasn’t onboard just to play spy. The Venus would dock in Antigua for a day, where he could visit Masters Corporation’s newest hotel property. It was all practical with just enough time for some pleasure in the mix.

The redhead’s sudden high kick right over his table gave him a view of her French-cut bikini bottoms. Long ropes of clear rhinestones seemed to tie the panties around her hips while allowing the trailing stones to caress her pale thighs. There was no way this woman could have been onstage in the first number. She had a knack for commanding his attention, something he didn’t give to many people in a life grown too fractured. He would have noticed her.

Lowering her body to the floor, she rocked her hips in provocative fashion. Writhed on the ground as if she couldn’t wait for fulfillment. For sex. For him.

Damn but she was hot.

Renewed interest in his trip had him clapping and on his feet when her number ended. A wolf whistle fell from his lips without thought.

He didn’t know if she had more dances or if she was done for the night, but either way he made up his mind to go backstage and find out. He might have squelched his aptitude for spontaneity over the last year of putting family first, but he’d always had a flair for closing a deal.

And the brazen bombshell hurrying offstage in glittering silver sandals was one opportunity he wouldn’t let slip away.

* * *

HAULING BUTT OFFSTAGE, Rita wanted to slip out of sight and slink away before Danielle the Demoness could get a hold of her. She’d missed two cues by a fraction of a second. Not enough that the audience would notice, but enough to soften the performance and take off the edge of crisp perfection Danielle drilled into their brains at Jayne’s rehearsals.

It was the man in the front row who’d thrown Rita off. When he’d turned to look at her head-on… She closed her eyes to recapture the hot sensation of desire that had showered over her.

Deep. Dark. Delicious.

If she didn’t need to search for Jayne, she might be tempted to track him down and see what happened. Resigned to giving Danielle the slip and helping her sister keep her job instead, Rita hurried out of her costume before the show manager realized what happened. Luckily, Jayne’s stage perfection usually bought her a wide berth from Danielle who—while she liked to nitpick every detail of her productions—possessed a healthy respect for star talent.

Sliding into her shorts and knit halter top she’d been wearing earlier, Rita rushed out of the backstage through a lesser-used side door out onto the Mercury deck while still securing the knot around the back of her neck.

“Can I help you with that?”

Through the veil of her hair with her neck kinked down, Rita spied the object of her stage fantasies framed by the dark night of the open deck. The man in the navy pinstriped suit looked even better close up. He reached for the tie on her halter top.

Sex-starved lunatic that she was, she actually moved her hand away to let him take over the task. For a nanosecond.

“Wait.” She slapped her hand back on the half-formed knot, dismayed to find his fingers already there. And she was already turned on. Her legs that had been shaking from the performance quivered a little more. Just from this man’s proximity. Amazing.

“What?” His voice was too close. He was too close.

Rita reminded herself she was not the impulsive sister. She was the rock. The stabilizer in her family since she’d pulled her first babysitting gig when she’d been eight and Jayne seven. Rita prided herself on being the only Frazer female not driven by her hormones.

Although in this man’s case that seemed hard to remember.

“I can get it. And I don’t even know you, so I have no intention of letting you dress me.”

He slid his hand out from under hers, although he didn’t remove it altogether. Instead, the warmth of his fingers drifted fleetingly along her shoulder underneath her hair for a moment as she finished tying her shirt into place. The touch was so light she could almost think she’d imagined it.

“I’m Harrison Masters and I run a resort called Masters Inn on the outskirts of Naples.”

“Rita Frazer.” She found herself extending her hand to shake his, even though she didn’t normally fraternize with passengers. But maybe just this once she deserved a little reward for her efforts since she’d gone above and beyond duty by dancing Jayne’s number. She hadn’t even been able to stick around to meet with the Roman Cruise Lines executives to ensure they were pleased with her costumes.

“Nice to meet you, Rita.” His smile created crinkles around his endlessly blue eyes. His hand engulfed hers, the warmth of his fingers stroking the heel of her palm, the sensitive inside of her wrist where her pulse throbbed with awareness. “I hope you don’t mind me following up on our connection during your show.”

“Umm.” She backed up against the rail as an older couple shuffled past them. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” He leaned against the rail while the ship cruised easily through open water, crossing his legs at the ankle as if he had all night. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one engaged in the long, hot looks out there.”

She hesitated, knowing she could hardly deny her unusual behavior. “Sorry about all the long, hot looks.”

“Don’t be sorry on my account. I’m a gentleman and all, and I’ll leave now if I misinterpreted the staring. But I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

“I was staring at you. But not for the reason you probably thought.”

“Meaning you didn’t hope I’d come backstage to proposition you?” He shook his head, his broad shoulders slumping just a bit. “Damned if my dating skills aren’t getting rusty.”

She remembered him peeling the label off his beer bottle before she came out onstage and felt a twinge of empathy. If he’d given her a hard-sell pitch to have a drink with him, she could have blown him off in a heartbeat. But she hated to think she’d led him on.

“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”And God knows, she’d thought about jumping him the moment she laid eyes on him. “I just got into a bit of a pickle with the whole dancing thing and I needed a focus—”

“No need to explain.” He held up his hand to halt her, a flash of regret in those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “It’s not your fault and I’m just going to get out of your way so you can—”

“Wait.” Rita’s heart pounded with the need to explain. Or maybe she just didn’t want to let him go. After the day she’d had, Harrison Masters seemed like a lifeline, a rare opportunity to enjoy herself for a few stolen hours since she probably wouldn’t have any luck tracking down the partying newlyweds until dawn at the earliest. Maybe she could forget about being practical just this once. “On second thought, a man with rusty dating skills might be just my speed. You want to get a drink?”

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER, Harrison guided Rita toward the uppermost deck of the ship under a fat full moon and had to admit maybe his dating savvy wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. At the very least, he was right to follow the attraction to see where it led because he’d had more fun getting to know her over drinks tonight than he’d ever had in a crowded bar.

“I never date,” Rita blurted as they strolled side by side around the running track on the small, nearly vacant deck.

“Never?” Harrison had discovered speaking her mind was part of her unusual charm, a part he appreciated greatly since he’d never been much for decoding the complicated thought processes employed by women. “I’m positive that’s not because of a lack of offers. Your line of work must bring you a lot of attention.”

“Not exactly.” She slowed down as they reached the forward curve of the rail where they could see six other larger decks sprawled out below them.

From their perch they could see conga dancing around the pool, a teen disco party on another deck and an Irish pub night around one of the other outdoor bars where revelers all wore shiny green plastic leprechaun hats.

Her hedging answer made him wary to press further. “I totally get it if you don’t want to talk about your love life. I’m just glad to be here with you, Rita, because I don’t take much time off to hang out and relax. I’ve had a great time tonight.”

Rita looked too good to contemplate with only a couple of inches separating them. She tossed her thick red curls over her shoulder, releasing the apple scent of her shampoo. She flicked her fingernail gently against her wineglass, creating a soft ringing sound.

“It’s not that. We just got to talking about so many other things downstairs, I forgot to explain to you—” She stopped herself. “I never even told you about the staring thing onstage, either, did I? I got a little nervous before I went out and I thought it would help calm me down if I had a focus point.”

“I was your focus point?” He settled at the rail next to her, enjoying the way their hideaway isolated them while giving them a view of so much of the ship. “And just what is a focus point, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I think it’s a meditation aid or something. My mom told me she used one to help get her through childbirth after the doctor told her Valium wasn’t an option, so I guess I adopted it for other painful experiences. I’m not even really a showgirl. But I was covering for someone.” She shrugged, a flirtatious grin playing about her fuchsia painted lips. “Worked like a charm for me.”

Her brown eyes glided over him, the bold stare at odds with her light words. Only an idiot wouldn’t make a move after a night that couldn’t get much more romantic. Then again, why rush something great when he was enjoying every second in her company? He wasn’t twenty years old.

“It worked damn well for me, too. That costume you wore—” he’d be seeing rhinestones in his dreams for the rest of his life “—I’ve never seen anything like it. You’d never know you weren’t supposed to be onstage. From where I was sitting, you looked like you were born to do high kicks.”