Mr. Right Now (9 page)

This whole thing was crazy. If he was this super-escort, why did he keep getting stress-induced nosebleeds? It didn’t make sense. Escorts were supposed to be suave and debonair, not nerds with tissue habits.

Tyler’s angry green eyes flashed at her. “I’b nod kiddin’. You’b godda stob dis.”

Casey nodded. She needed to stop a lot of things, but how to tell these people she wasn’t a newlywed, that this man in her room was basically a stranger, without ruining her image. Or the reporter ruining her image once they were off the ship and he could twist this innocent situation into something dirty.

A sigh escaped Casey’s lips, and then another set of female hands appeared to add a layer of napkins to Tyler’s nose. January. From the way she’d acted in the stateroom and now here, she would probably be only too happy to play house with Tyler. Homewrecker.

January’s up-do was gone, replaced by a curly mass of hair that had been hot-rolled to within an inch of its life. Dark brown eyeshadow, black eyeliner and a gallon of mascara made her eyes pop out of her head, and a thin trickle of sweat rolled down her face along her hairline. Her lips were pulled tight, making a thin edge of her lip without liner or lipstick.

“I’m sorry,” January said. The words were barely a whisper.

Her ship uniform had been replaced by a glittering black halter-style gown and black spike-heeled shoes. The polish on her thumbs was chipped, as if she had been worrying the area with her other fingers. She looked more frazzled than she had in the suite earlier, but what was she sorry about?

She finished dealing with Tyler’s nosebleed, and said, “I had nothing to do with this. I just want you to know that.” She pushed her hands through her hair, calming a few curls.

Well, that was a relief, but Casey didn’t much care who was responsible. She just wanted the insanity to stop.

She shouldn’t have left the deck. Should have hidden out there with Mason for a few more minutes. Maybe then she could have avoided Tyler and this stupid party.

Turning to January, she asked, “What is this?”

January shifted from foot to foot, wringing her hands together like dishrags. “It’s kind of a wedding reception.” She held up her hands when Casey would have interrupted. “I didn’t do it. There’s an entertainment director who talked to your agent about a book signing. We’re supposed to work together, but apparently he is a complete idiot and decided that a fan reception would get more attention from our guests. Before I could tell him that you two sharing a room was a mistake, he’d already planned this whole thing. Sent invitations to most of the rooms and the reservations were coming in.”

“Planning is one thing, but inviting half the ship is another.” Casey motioned to the crowd. The guests talked quietly, stealing glances at the head table. Probably trying to figure out what was going on. She saw Mags and Eddie holding hands at their table, two half-filled champagne glasses between them.

They were going to be crushed.

“All of these people were invited?”

January wrung her hands, glanced from Tyler’s napkin-covered face to Casey and the crowded hall. “The entertainment director sent invitations to every room, but would have only allowed the first two hundred to make reservations. If it’s any consolation, I cut him off after about seventy-five called in. The rest are either in the casino or the dance club.”

No. The thought wasn’t the least bit consoling. The reporter was probably hiding in the crowd, cackling with glee at getting the scoop on Cassandra Cash’s non-existent newlywed status.

At least Mason wasn’t here. He’d been up on deck with her when the invitations went out. Besides, a plumber probably wouldn’t be interested in a honeymoon party. Especially for a couple he didn’t even know.

A knife clinked against someone’s glass and Casey and January turned to the sound. A middle-aged man in the back stood. “I propose a toast,” he said. The fringe of salt-and-pepper hair over his ears didn’t quite match the deep brown of his toupee. He was dressed in a black suit, blue shirt and tie. He was probably wearing High Karate aftershave. “To the newlyweds. May your life together be rich in love and happiness.”

The knife clinked again, signaling the end of his toast. Several partygoers catcalled and whistled, obviously wanting the newlyweds to kiss.

Casey looked at Tyler, head lolled back, napkins covering his face. The napkins puffed up and he said, “Dod eben ting abou’did.”

“Do something.” January hissed the words through her tight lips, trying to hold her glued-on smile in place.

Casey did the only thing she could. She told the truth. “I, um, am not quite sure what to say. Thank you all for coming tonight, but I’m afraid there’s been a slight misunderstanding.”

January inhaled loudly.

“Tyler and I aren’t married.” A collective gasp filled the room. “We have the same last name, and sometimes people get a little ahead of themselves,” she said, sending a killing look to January. Really, this cruise line had to be run by imbeciles. “Tyler and I...uh...recently met. I guess you could say we’re seeing each other regularly—” Like each time they stepped into the stateroom. “But we aren’t married.”

A few faces frowned at the news. The wait staff stopped moving between the tables to stare at Casey, and the band set up at the back of the room stopped tuning their instruments. From somewhere in the back came, “So does that mean the party’s over?”

Casey couldn’t tell which guest asked the question, but everyone in the room looked interested in the answer. She looked at January, who shrugged, and then Tyler made a no-way motion with his free hand. A bright red splotch of blood seeped through the napkins. She needed to get him out of here.

“The party isn’t over. You can stay and enjoy the food and dancing as long as you want, but I need to take Tyler back to our room. He’s a little...under the weather.”

Grabbing a clean napkin, Casey raised the mass of paper from Tyler’s face. The trickle of blood had turned into a steady stream. Was the man sick? How could a person bleed this much over stress? She replaced the mass with another stack of the soft paper and put her hands under his arms.

Tyler took the hint, stood, threw his head back and let Casey lead him from the head table.

Mags stopped her before she could leave the room. “A cold compress on the back of his neck might help that,” she said, motioning to Tyler’s napkin-clad face. “One of our boys used to get nose-bleeds all the time. Usually from fighting. You might try that.”

Eddie interrupted, “And come back to the party. You should have some fun.”

Casey felt Tyler stiffen beside her. He was probably afraid everyone would follow them to the stateroom if she didn’t come back.

“I’ll try, Eddie. But I have to take care of Tyler first,” she said, pulling Tyler along with her.

She wanted out of this room, and if she could get away with it, she would leave Tyler behind and just run. Except there was nowhere to run. Surrounded on all sides by water, the most she could hope for was the harsh ocean sun ruining her complexion.

“We think it’s just wonderful that you’ve found your hero. Just like you say in your books—having it all can be easy.” The words drawled out a syllable at a time. Two older ladies, wearing flowered hats, black dresses and sensible shoes stepped forward from the crowd. The ladies smiled, patted Casey and then Tyler on the arm. “Everyone deserves the happiness that true love can bring.” Patting their chests, the ladies nodded their heads. The only thing missing was the waving white handkerchief to complete the Southern Belle picture.

“True love,” one said, sighing.

“A truly wonderful thing,” the other said.

“Ting you, ladies,” Tyler mumbled through the napkins.

“We should get back to the room,” Casey said.

The ladies giggled, probably thinking about what would happen once the new couple was alone and no longer bleeding. Wouldn’t they be surprised?

The closest she planned on getting to Tyler was getting this nosebleed stopped.

* * * *

Mason entered the hall just in time to see Casey hustling a tall man with brown hair and a wad of napkins pressed to his face from the room. Everything went red.

He opened the crumpled invitation he found under his door and frowned. An invitation to celebrate the marriage of Cassandra and Tyler Cash. Son of a bitch. She’d really duped him. Turned him from a hard-ass reporter to the nerd scurrying after the cheerleader. What an idiot.

Had he slept with a married woman?

Mason had done his share of randy things. Hell, once at a Halloween party, he’d slid into the pantry with a woman. They’d done things in front of the corn and green beans that would make Howard Stern blush.

He had never slept with a married woman.

At least not knowingly.

Mason took a deep breath. He could paint a picture of her body. Pink toenails, nice legs. Her breasts were amazing. Her hands on his skin felt like heaven. Deep brown hair brushed against the creamy skin at her neck before plummeting down her back. Amazing blue eyes.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t see her hands in his mind. Was she wearing a ring?

And if she wasn’t married, just what was she celebrating with Tyler Cash?

Stuffing the invitation back in his pocket, Mason crushed his right hand hard against his forehead and tried to concentrate. He thought she wore pink fingernail polish, but he couldn’t remember. How could he remember her toes, but not her fingers?

He whirled at a tap on his shoulder. Tilly entered the room behind him, her new beau at her side. For the first time, Mason noticed she was slightly taller than the guy from the bar. Neither seemed to mind, though.

“Is she here?” Tilly looked wildly around the room.

Mason could barely make out the words as the band struck up at that moment. He leaned forward so Tilly’s mouth was close to his ear.

“I didn’t miss her, did I?”

Mason pointed to the door on the other side of the room. “She just left. She and some guy and another woman hurried out just a few minutes ago.”

A frown marred Tilly’s face. “Dang it. She’s my favorite author. Now that Herb’s not running my life, I really need her advice. She could tell my story—I bet a lot of women start over at least once in their life.”

“Mmm,” was all Mason could think to say. Up until two minutes ago, he thought Casey was starting over. Maybe even with him. Apparently not.

“I guess I should thank you while you’re still here, though.” Tilly motioned to the man from the bar, stepped a little closer to Mason and lowered her voice. “Wally’s a real sweet man. He pulled my chair out for me at dinner. He’s an accountant, you know, and he makes numbers seem so
interesting
.”

Oh, no. Tilly wasn’t putting all her rebound eggs in Wally's basket was she? This was bad. Really bad. Mason tried to interrupt, but Tilly talked right over him.

“I know, this is probably just a vacation rebound thing, but if you hadn’t introduced us at the bar, I would probably still be moping up on the deck. Thinking about Herb and the bimbo and my kids.” Tears sprang into her eyes. “And now I’ve got him to think about. He asked me what I wanted out of life. Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”

Mason smiled at Tilly. Maybe the introduction hadn’t been a mistake. Unlike sleeping with Casey. One out of two wasn’t bad. “And what is it you want?”

Tilly giggled, stepped back to Wally and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “You know, I don’t know. And it’s completely alright.” She turned her head, smiling at Wally. He smiled up at her and clasped the hand holding tightly to his elbow.

“Not knowing isn’t such a catastrophe,” Wally said. “You just start from scratch and figure it out as you go.”

The two rested their foreheads against one another for a few seconds, smiling.

An older couple passed the group on the way to the dance floor. They slid into a waltz and Wally pulled Tilly toward the floor, leaving Mason alone. Couples paired off across the room as the band continued to play. Other than the waitstaff, Mason couldn’t pick out any ship employees. He wanted to ask why the guests of honor just left, but without anyone to ask, he left the room.

Mason wandered from the room, barely suppressing the urge to head straight to her room, bang on the door and demand answers. She had slept with him, left him nearly exposed on the deck and now she might be married to another man. What kind of woman did that?