Going Overboard (28 page)

The room steward she realized. But there was no fear or wariness in his expression. He smiled faintly, as if amused by the whole scene.

Releasing his breath, McKay holstered his gun beneath his jacket, then pulled her inside and shut the door. “Glad to see you, Izzy.”

“Same goes.”

Carly studied the big man in the crisp white jacket. “You're partners, aren't you?”

The steward sauntered closer, hand extended.

McKay found a quarter from his pocket and slapped it into his hand. “Yeah, we're partners. And if he doesn't stop asking for tips, I'm going to deck him.”

With a snort, the steward pocketed the coin, gave Carly a wink, and left, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway.

McKay said nothing as he checked the bathroom, the closet, and finally the veranda.

“I'm sure your friend has already done that,” Carly said. “He doesn't look like the type to miss much.”

“I prefer to do my own checking. Call it habit.”

“Are you going to tell me who you really work for?”

He opened the connecting door and stepped inside her cabin, subjecting it to the same silent scrutiny. Carly followed, certain he was stalling to avoid her question. “Well?”

He caught her by the elbows before she plowed into him, pulling her into his arms. “Who I work for isn't important.”

“It is to me,” she said stubbornly.

He angled her head for a long, openmouthed kiss that left her pulse zinging. “Adjoining cabins is definitely the right idea.”

Carly ignored his innuendo. “I need to check in with my crew, then call Mel in New York.”

“Fine. Just keep the chain on. Don't open your door for anyone but me or Izzy.”

“How will I know it's you?”

He whistled the theme from
Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

“You're kidding. A secret whistle? Gee, do I get a secret decoder ring, too?”

McKay didn't hide his smile. “Simple is usually better. When you're ready to leave, call me on the phone in your suite.” His smile faded. “Remember, don't unchain the door for anyone else.”

Carly realized he was deadly serious.

It took two hours to check in with Mel, then track down all her crew. Hank was back from New York, sporting new camera equipment. While she checked out his high-tech camera, they ran through half a dozen ideas for the next set of shots.

It seemed that her career was back on course, despite Griffin Kelly's malicious ploy, and Hank assured her there would be no more sniping from New York. All she had to do now was deliver fantastic footage in record time.

A knock brought her to the door. “Name, rank, and serial number,” she whispered. Satisfied by the distinctive five-note whistle, she pulled back the chain and swung open the door.

McKay studied her face. “You look tired, Sullivan.”

“Busy morning. Everything's set for tomorrow. We begin shooting at seven.”

He hid a grimace. “Then today you're going to have fun. That's an order.” He moved to the teak bar and poured her a glass of sherry. “Relax.”

“I've heard that word somewhere.”

“Not the way I define it. Tonight I'll show you in detail. Unless you want to start now,” he said huskily.

Carly turned her glass in her hands and surrendered to a hot, explicit image of the two of them ripping off each other's clothes in a frantic race to the bed. She cleared her throat. “No way. You promised me a shopping trip, remember? I want to impress you tonight.”

“I was impressed from the first moment I saw you and Daphne by the swimming pool, checking out my thighs.”

“We were
not.
It was your chest we were checking out, and for professional reasons only. We needed the best man for the job.”

He tilted her head up to his and traced her flushed cheek. “Then you're lucky, sunshine. You definitely found him.”

M
cKay was starting to understand the primal frustration that drove fur-clad Neanderthals out of the cave into sweaty, hand-to-hand combat with saber-toothed tigers.

In the last hour and a half, he had watched Carly acquire swimsuits, sandals, a hammered silver choker, a quarter ounce of jasmine perfume with matching bath salts, and a slinky black evening gown with a beaded bodice.

Grappling with a saber-toothed tiger would have been more pleasant.

“Well, that was fun,” Carly said shifting a bag from her right hand to her left as she surveyed another row of shops.

McKay worked hard not to groan.

The cruise ship's promenade was not as large as Rhode Island but it looked like it was. Mirrored elevators reflected a bustling four-story village of shops, bars, and restaurants surrounded by stained glass and false skylights.

Carly took his arm, smiling serenely as she headed for a boutique advertising crystal perfume bottles. “Anytime you want to go into a corner and whimper, just let me know.”

“Aren't you about ready to take a break?” He managed to keep his voice calm, though whimpering was a real possibility.

“Maybe in a few more minutes.” Carly gnawed at her lip, studying a shop that displayed a replica of a red British phone box.

McKay managed not to remind her that she had said the same thing three times in the last hour.

“Aphrodite's Secret. I can't wait.”

He could about a century or so. But a promise was a promise, and his patience was rewarded when he saw the frothy lace negligees draped over a pink satin chair in the window. “Now you're showing good judgment.”

“You think you get to watch?”

“You'd better believe it. I have serious consumer input to give. If you're nice, I won't even charge you.” As he spoke, McKay glanced around the boutique.

No thugs were crouched behind the Louis XIV armchairs. No assassins were taking aim beside the plush velvet banquettes.

He decided he could finally relax just a little. He liked watching Carly enjoy herself, and he was certain it wasn't something she got around to often in her fast-track life.

The mirrored boutique was full of brisk saleswomen and their polished high-maintenance customers. A smiling floor attendant sailed past with iced champagne in a silver bucket.

“Stay close,” Carly said. “I may suffer credit card burn unless I'm restrained.”

“I'll be right beside ya, little lady,” he said in his best John Wayne voice. “A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.”

“I'm so glad to hear it.” Carly headed straight for a lace corselet and matching gown.

“If this is a dream, don't wake me,” McKay said hoarsely. Just imagining the lace ensemble draped on her elegant body left him decidedly aroused. He was looking for a chair nearby when he heard Carly's delighted laughter. Between the displays he picked out Daphne, her arms full of lingerie, obviously intent on serious shopping of her own.

He peered at Daphne over the display. “Nice to see you again.”

Daphne's eyes twinkled. “Same here. I'd like you both to meet my fiancé.”

“David's here?” Carly looked flabbergasted.

“In the flesh. No more faxes or transatlantic phone calls. He flew in yesterday.” She looked over Carly's shoulder. “He was here a minute ago, but he had to arrange for a fax to Switzerland.” She waved to a tall man with a heavy jaw who was crossing the crowded boutique. His navy double-breasted blazer was Armani, his tie Hermès, and his teeth were perfectly white as he smiled at Daphne, a sheaf of papers beneath one arm.

“Out of champagne already, or did you want my opinion on a purchase?”

“You've been back and forth to send faxes three times—I could be buying baggy sweats and you wouldn't notice,” Daphne huffed.

“Not true. I follow every detail.” He touched her cheek with one knuckle. “As a matter of fact, I can tell you exactly what you've purchased and how much it cost to the penny,” he added. “It just so happens that I can work at the same time.”

Daphne's eyes clouded. “No business. Not today, David. You promised.”

“Forgive me. The rest of the day is yours.” He slid his papers into an ostrich-skin briefcase and snapped it shut with a flourish. “Where do we begin?”

“With an introduction. I know you remember Carly. And this is Ford McKay, who's been helping out with Carly's project for the cruise line.”

David turned, rubbing his hands in delight. “Carly, it's been too long.” He enveloped her in a hug, kissing each cheek with European flair. Then he turned to McKay. “You must be the man who handled that problem in Barbados.”

The man was the perfect fiancé for the daughter of a

head of state. He oozed charm and affability, and his clothes were immaculate.

But to McKay his eyes seemed restless, maybe even calculating. The combination of the pricy suit, the perfect haircut, and the orthodontically enhanced teeth seemed too deliberate, suggesting that David Halloran had not been “born to the purple” but worked hard to convince people otherwise.

When Halloran looked at Daphne, his eyes softened and he smiled with real warmth. There was also a hint of possessiveness, as if Daphne were a prized and fragile piece of art.

“Glad I was around to help,” McKay murmured.

“I'd like to show my gratitude. In fact I insist.” The banker gestured to an attendant across the aisle. “Another bottle of Cristal and two more glasses. Carly, feel free to choose something extravagant. We'll make it my gift.”

Carly shifted uncomfortably. “I don't think…”

Daphne linked arms with her fiancé, shaking her head. “There's no arguing with him, I warn you. You'll just have to accept that you're about to be showered with gifts. David's generosity is one of his failings.”

David glanced at Daphne in surprise. “That disturbs you, my dear?”

“You can be a little overwhelming at times.” Daphne patted his arm. “You spend too much time with cold numbers and stock certificates. A gift means so much more if you choose and present it yourself. Perhaps a bottle of perfume.”

“Only fair, since you overwhelmed
me
the instant I set eyes on you. In a room with a thousand women, there was only you,” Halloran said gravely. “And you claimed my heart.”

McKay was glad to be saved from further lyricism by the arrival of the champagne. Halloran nodded to the attendant, who eased the cork free and filled two more glasses.

“A drink to new friendships.” It was a polite order.

Glasses clinked, but McKay remained silent as the others echoed the sentiment.

As soon as possible he moved aside, his voice falling as he spoke to Carly. “Why don't you take a look at that lace outfit? Let me know if you need any help with the buttons.”

A saleswoman appeared, attuned to the prospect of more sales, and Carly cleared her throat. “I'd like to see the pink lace set.”

Daphne's fiancé studied the frothy items appreciatively. “Admirable taste.”

Carly s taste is none of your damned business
, McKay thought. The man's manners could use some work.

Daphne pulled Carly toward the dressing room. “While you try it on, you can fill me in on the shoot.”

Halloran watched the two women vanish into the dressing area. “So, McKay, have you known Carly long?”

“We met on the cruise.”

“Very romantic.” He swirled his champagne carefully. “It's important for Daphne to have a friend with her now.”

“I don't follow.”

“She's worried about her foundation and about the plans for our wedding. Unfortunately, my business keeps me in Europe a great deal, and this bothers her, too.” Halloran watched bubbles burst in his glass. “She also broods about her father.”

“He seemed fine when I met him in Bridgetown.”

“Daphne thinks otherwise.” The banker shot one immaculate cuff. “Some problem with the local government in Santa Marina. The political alliances can be unpredictable there.” He smiled as Daphne's laughter spilled from the dressing room, and then he turned, refilling McKay's glass. “You're from Wyoming, Daphne tells me. A big spread?”

“We run about five hundred head of cattle along with some quarter horses. The land's been in the family for five generations.”

“Impressive. Of course in Europe, five generations is a

mere instant. But dreaming of the past can be a curse.” He shook his head, then stood up as Daphne emerged, her dress crowned by a purple feather boa and matching mules.

“How do I look?”

“Lovely, as always. Why don't you add them to the other things?” He put down his glass and consulted his watch. “I'm afraid we have a spa appointment at four o'clock, followed by a waltz class at six-fifteen,” he reminded her.

Carly emerged the dressing room, lace in hand. “Did someone mention waltz lessons?”

“Bankers can't be bothered to learn how to dance unless a woman threatens them with bodily harm.” Daphne draped the boa over her arm and slid out of the mules. “You, meanwhile, are under direct orders to go forth and shop,” she said to Carly. “Buy one in every color or I'll never forgive you. And we'll see you for drinks in the Crystal Club. Why don't we say seven o'clock?”

With the time set, David beckoned to a saleswoman carrying at least a dozen boxes, and the three set off for the front counter.

“I'm exhausted just watching them.” Carly studied McKay. “You don't like him, do you?”