Honest illusions(BookZZ.org) (33 page)

It wasn’t possible to point to the fact that she’d run into him that afternoon in Quebec City after completing her role as interpreter on one of the shore excursions—or that she’d made him enjoy being hauled from shop to shop buying gifts and souvenirs, eating ice cream and weaving through crowds of tourists on the long narrow streets to listen to a musician play the concertina.

To be fair, he couldn’t blame the fact that she made certain a day didn’t pass without giving him one of those light, butterfly kisses that stirred the juices the way a crust of bread would heighten the hunger of a starving man.

No, he couldn’t blame any one of those things—until he put them all together with the less tangible but equally effective vibrations she seemed to emit whenever he was within five feet of her.

He grumbled to himself all the way up the outside stairway from the Lido Deck to Promenade, from Promenade to Royal. He wasn’t some freaking messenger boy, and he’d nearly told Jack as much. But it would have been hard to explain why he objected so strenuously to asking Roxanne if she’d help greet passengers in the reception line for the captain’s farewell party.

They were still docked in Quebec City. From the high rail he could see the pretty hills, the steep streets, the elegance of the towering Chateau Frontenac. It had been fun to wander through the old town with her, hearing her laugh, watching her eyes light up.

He didn’t know how he was going to get through the next five weeks being so goddamn brotherly.

He turned. Most of the deck chairs were empty. Because they wouldn’t sail until seven that evening, many of the passengers would stay ashore until deadline. Those who preferred relaxing on board were two decks below, indulging in the delicate pastries being served at tea.

But Roxanne was here, stretched out on a deck chair, mirrored sunglasses shading her eyes, a book in her hands, and an unbearably tiny bikini covering no more than was required by law.

Luke swore viciously under his breath before crossing to her.

She knew he was there, had known from the moment he reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the rail. She’d been staring at the same page in her novel for five full minutes, and was grateful for the time to whip her heart rate under control.

Leisurely she turned the page then reached out for the lukewarm soft drink on the table beside her.

“You like to live dangerously.”

She glanced up, arched a brow, then tipped her glasses down just far enough to look over the tops. “Do I?”

“A redhead sitting in the sun’s just asking to burn.” In truth her skin had neither burned nor tanned. It had simply bloomed, gorgeously, like a ripening peach.

“I don’t stay out long.” She smiled and pushed her glasses back into place. A healthy ripple of lust swam through her. “And I’m just slathered all over with lotion.” Very slowly, she skimmed a fingertip up a glistening thigh. “Did you give Lily the lace fan you bought her?”

“Yeah.” To make certain they behaved, Luke tucked his itchy hands in his pockets. “You were right.

She was crazy about it.”

“See? You only have to trust me.”

She shifted, only a little, but he was aware of every muscle, every detail. The tiny hoops in her ears, the glint of the delicate gold chain with its slim amethyst crystal around her neck, the way her hair curled riotously where she tied it on top of her head, the erotic scent of the lotion she’d slicked over her skin.

Murder was too good for her.

“Jack wanted to know if you could do the reception line tonight. One of the girls is fighting off a virus.”

“Oh, I think I could manage that.” She slid her foot up the chair and lazily scratched her knee. “Want a sip?” She offered the watered-down Coke. “You look hot.”

“I’m fine.” Or he would be once he managed to move the feet that seemed nailed to the deck by her chair. “Shouldn’t you go in and get ready?”

“I’ve got plenty of time. Do me a favor?” She stretched once, catlike, before she picked up the bottle of lotion and tossed it to him. “Do my back, okay?”

“Your back?”

“Um-hmm.” Shifting again, she lowered the back of the chair, rolled over and snuggled down. “I can’t reach it.”

He was surprised the lotion didn’t geyser out the top as he squeezed the bottle so tightly. “Your back looks fine.”

“Be a pal.” After pillowing her head on her hands, she sighed like a woman relaxed. But behind the mirrored lenses her eyes were open and watchful. “It wouldn’t do for me to ask one of the deckhands.”

That did it. Setting his teeth, he crouched down and squeezed lotion on her shoulder blades. She sighed again, her lips curving.

“Feels good,” she murmured. “Warm.”

“Having the bottle in the sun could account for it.” He began to spread the lotion with his fingertips, objectively, he thought. After all, it was only a back. Skin and bone. Soft, satiny skin. Long, delicate bones. She moved sinuously under his hands, and he bit back a moan.

Her toes were curling. His hands were magic on her slippery skin, conjuring up images, lighting fires, fogging the brain. Still, Luke wasn’t the only one who knew about image and control. Her voice might have been husky when she spoke, but Roxanne thought that could be attributed to a state of relaxation as easily as arousal.

“You have to unhook the top.”

The hands circling her back paused. Her glasses tossed back the reflection of his stunned face. “Excuse me?”

“The top,” she repeated. “Unhook it or I’ll get a line.”

“Right.” No big deal, he told himself, but his fingers reached and pulled back from the simple hook twice before he was satisfied with his willpower.

Now Roxanne did close her eyes, the better to absorb each rippling sensation. “Mmmm. You could get a job belowdecks with Inga.”

“Inga?” Odd, he didn’t think he’d ever noticed how subtly her back tapered down to her waist.

“The masseuse. I had a thirty-minute session last night, but she’s got nothing on you, Callahan. Daddy’s always admired your hands, you know?” Her chuckle was shaky as he trailed his fingers down to the small of her back. If she didn’t laugh, she’d groan. “For entirely different reasons, of course. As for me, I . . .” She trailed off on a throaty sigh when he smoothed his palms down her rib cage.

Good God, her bones were melting under his hands. It was an impossibly erotic sensation to have her grow warmer, more fluid with each stroke. The nape of her neck tempted him desperately. His mouth watered at the thought of pressing his lips just there, tasting that lotion-slicked skin and feeling her tremble. It took little imagination to conjure a fantasy of her rolling over, that ridiculous band of emerald falling away as she let him explore those sleek curves. She’d groan for him, reach for him, open for him.

And then, at last then . . .

It was the sound of his own unsteady breathing that pulled him back. His hands were poised on the sides of her breasts, his fingers on the point of sliding beneath to claim that silky fullness.

She was trembling, as obviously and completely aroused as he.

They were on an open deck, he thought in disgust. In full sunlight. Worse, much worse, they were as

closely related as two people could be without sharing blood.

He snatched his hands back, capped the bottle after two fumbling attempts. “That’ll do it.”

Her system shuddered with the broken promise of fulfillment. Roxanne lifted her head, bringing one hand up automatically to hold the loosened top in place, using the other to lower her glasses again. This time the eyes behind them were dark and heavy. “Will it?”

Furious with the ease with which she could undermine his willpower, he clamped tense fingers on her jaw. “I’ve just seen to it you won’t get burned, Rox. Do us both a favor, and keep your distance from the heat.”

She forced her lips into a smile. “Which one of us are you afraid for, Callahan?”

Because he didn’t know the answer, he pulled back and stood. “Don’t push your luck, Roxy.”

But she intended to push it, she thought when he strode across the deck and down the iron stairs. She intended to push until it broke, one way or the other.

“Who you mad at,
loup?”

“No one.” Luke stood with LeClerc outside the casino, watching the dancers sway on the postage-stamp dance floor in the Monte Carlo Lounge. The quartet of Polish musicians was playing

“Night and Day” with a touch of bebop.

“So why you scowl?” LeClerc yanked at the detested tie he was obliged to wear on this last formal night of the first cruise. “That look in your eye makes the menfolk back away, and the women sigh and shiver.”

Despite his mood, Luke’s lips twitched. “Maybe that’s how I like it. Where’s that silver-haired French fox you’ve been sniffing around?”

“Marie-Clair. She’ll be along.” LeClerc chewed on his pipe while Luke lit a cigar. “A handsome woman, that. Meat on the bone and fire in the belly.” He grinned, making the pipe stem rattle against his teeth. “A rich widow is a gift from God to a man. She has jewelry. Ah.” He kissed his fingers and sighed. “Last night, I held her opal pendant in my hand. Ten carats,
mon ami,
perhaps twelve, circled by a dozen ten-point diamonds. But you and the rest, you make me feel guilty for even thinking about taking it from her. So tomorrow, I will bid her
adieu,
and she will go home to Montreal with her opal and her diamonds, with a ruby ring of exquisite proportion, and numerous other treasures that break the heart.

Only her virtue will I have stolen.”

Amused, Luke laid a hand on LeClerc’s shoulder. “Sometimes,
mon ami,
that is enough.” He glanced toward the forward entrance of the lounge.

Roxanne stood with her hand being kissed by the ship’s first officer. The fact that the man was tall and bronzed and Greek was bad enough. Insult was added to injury by the sound of Roxanne’s low laughter.

Her dress was a short, shimmery swath of aquamarine. Without benefit of straps, it left Roxanne’s arms and shoulders bare. It dispensed with a back altogether. What little material there was draped low at the hips and stopped teasingly at mid-thigh.

The skin she’d warmed in the sun that afternoon glowed pale gold against the dreamy blue. She caught up her hair in a jeweled pin so that its mass tempted a man to free it and watch it spill fire.

“She’s not going to get away with it.”

“Eh?”

“I know what she’s up to,” Luke said under his breath. “And it’s not going to work.” He stalked off to the bar to indulge in a single whiskey. LeClerc stayed where he was and chuckled.

“It’s already worked,
mon cher loup.
The wolf is trapped by the vixen.”

Two hours later, Roxanne stood in the shadows behind the stage awaiting her first cue. The show on the last night of the cruise involved all the entertainers. For their part, the Nouvelles intended to leave them gasping.

Max and Lily were cashing in by leading off with one of their variations on the Divided Woman. The moment Lily was put back together for bows, Luke dashed out to keep the crowd warm with patter and pickpocket routines.

While explaining the escape he planned with handcuffs and a locked trunk, he called for two volunteers from the audience, then proceeded to steal them blind, to the delight of the onlookers.

A shake of hands, and he dangled the first man’s watch behind his head, while continuing to distract his two baffled volunteers with the handcuffs he offered for examination. He lifted wallets, penknives and pocket change from under their noses.

“Now, once they’re locked on, I’ll have thirty seconds. Harry?” He smiled at the short, bespectacled man beside him. “I can call you Harry?”

“Sure.”

“Well, Harry, I’m going to want you to time me. Got a second hand on your watch?”

“Oh, yeah.” All cooperation, Harry turned his wrist and frowned at his bare wrist.

“He’s really good, isn’t he?” Dori peeked over Roxanne’s shoulder.

Luke finished up the routine, making both men grin sheepishly as he passed back their belongings. The orchestra struck up a lively tune, indicating the finish. “You were great. You can relax now. Take it easy.”

He winked, handing Harry the tie he’d removed from the man’s neck. Then he made a business out of brushing down Harry’s shirt, fussing with his jacket, tugging the sleeves.

“What’s he doing? Playing valet?” Dori demanded.

“Just watch.”

Luke tugged and smoothed and plucked, then stuck out his hand again for a last hearty shake. As Harry

turned to walk offstage, Luke grasped the back of his shirt collar. A flick of the wrist and he held Harry’s baby-blue Arrow while the man goggled down at his bare chest showing beneath his suit jacket.

“Holy cow! How’d he do that? How’d he get the arms out of the jacket?”

Roxanne laughed, as she did every time she watched Luke pull off that particular trick. “Sorry, trade secret.” Roxanne grinned as she left to make her entrance.

She was working with Luke at this point, flying through a fast-moving sleight-of-hand duel from either side of the stage. Her costume mirrored his as well, a tailored tux with spangled lapels. Precision timing was as essential as dexterity. Objects appeared and disappeared out of their hands, multiplied and changed color and size.

To cap off the act, Luke made good on his promise of the trunk escape, cajoling what appeared to be reluctant assistance from Roxanne.

“Come on, Roxy, don’t embarrass me in front of all these nice people.”

“Do it yourself, Callahan. I know what happened last time.”

Luke turned toward the audience and spread his hands. “So she vanished for a couple of hours. I got her back eventually.”

“No.”

“Give me a break.” She shook her head again, and he sighed theatrically. “Okay, just hold up the curtain for me then.”

She studied him through narrowed, suspicious eyes. “You just want me to hold up the curtain.”

“Yeah.”

“No funny business?”

“Absolutely not.” He turned to the side with an exaggerated wink.

“Okay. I’ll do it, but only because the audience is so great. Tell you what, I’ll even do the cuffs for you.”