Going Overboard (32 page)

At the first note, he rolled to his side, his eyes going hard.

Carly raised open hands. “Just me, McKay. I'm unarmed, I assure you.” She smiled as the sheet began to slip down her body. “Oops. Now you've made me drop my sheet.”

The white cotton shifted, parting over her breasts. McKay's body had relaxed, but his gaze was locked on the falling sheet.

“I… didn't want to wake you,” he said hoarsely.

“Very noble. Do you always exercise like that in the morning?”

He wiped a line of sweat off his chest, looking distracted. “Usually.”

“Very impressive.” The sheet continued its downward drift, pooling at her waist. “May I put my hands down now?”

He rose in one smooth movement. “I don't think so. Anything might happen. I'll need to investigate thoroughly.”

Carly took a step back, measuring the heat in his eyes. As she did the sheet slid down to her thighs. “Tricky thing, sheets.” Her voice was breathy.

“Damn, Carly.”

“You shouldn't have gone away.”
Not when we have so few hours left.

“I thought you needed your rest.” He ran a finger along the edge of the fallen sheet, his eyes very dark.

“I needed you more.”

He made a hard sound of frustration, pulled her against him, and crushed his lips to her mouth.

Glorious
, she thought.

His hands rose to her breasts. “I'm delighted to see you're still wearing my necklace.”

“Along with Chanel No. 5.”

“An excellent combination. Wear it often.”

“I intend to,” she said pulling him down for a hungry kiss that left them both panting.

“Carly, I'm sweaty. I need to shower.”

“Mmm.” She walked backward pulling him with her, the sheet sliding farther with every step.

When it fell away, he stared at her body, taking in the flushed skin and the clear signs of her arousal. His gaze tightened as he pushed her back onto her bed and pinned her beneath him. “I'm losing my mind,” he said hoarsely, driving his fingers into her hair and savaging her mouth.

“I'm delighted to hear it.” Glorying in the instant tension of his wonderful body, she hooked one toe beneath the band of his track shorts and slowly pushed them down, sighing with pleasure as the rest of him slipped into view. Reckless now, she raked him with her nails, then nuzzled his torso and drew him into her mouth.

He was iron hard.

His eyes closed on an oath as she savored him slowly, drawing her teeth along every inch. When she bit

delicately, desire hazed his eyes and he toppled her backward, shoving apart her legs.

And then he feasted, exploring her thoroughly until she twisted and rocked against him, arms sprawling as desire slammed her up into a hot, glorious wave of release.

She sank back and took a shuddering breath. “No fair, McKay,” she rasped. “You cheated.”

“I always cheat.” He slid his hands high, dragging her wrists above her head. A drop of sweat fell from his chest onto her waist. “And I think I'm going to cheat again.”

He kneed apart her legs, entering her slowly, then driving up the pleasure with powerful strokes that left her breathless and straining.

“More,” Carly said, shoving urgently against him.

Only then did she see his face, masked in his effort at control as he held the rose salvaged from the night before. As he pulled away from her, the soft petals teased her softer skin. The flower turned, circling her heat, driving her to an exquisite fever of need until she shattered beneath his hands.

Limp, breathless, she collapsed against the covers, her body misted with sweat. There couldn't be more, she thought dimly. She didn't have the strength.

The hot slide of his body inside her proved she was wrong. Trembling, she rose against him, shocked at how much she wanted him again, shocked at how effortlessly he twisted her inside out.

“Hold me,” he ordered, braced above her.

She wrapped her legs around him, her nails raking his back.

Blindly, he plunged deep until a wall of darkness tore away the world around them.

Carly was dressed when McKay emerged from the shower. Papers were lined up on the coffee table and her face looked strained.

“Mel just arrived,” she said flatly. “She says we need to speed up the shooting schedule.”

He stifled a groan. “First they fire you, then they expect you to make wine out of water.”

“Welcome to show business.”

“How much time do you have?”

“Not enough. She wants all the body shots finished today.”

“Is that possible?”

“I'll have to make it possible,” she said tightly.

“Hell.” McKay had a nasty vision of more oil being slathered on his bare chest.

“It should only take seven or eight hours.”

“Only?”

“Very funny.” She gave him a pretend right hook. “I'm not exactly thrilled about this. I'd prefer to bolt the door and spend the rest of the day right here.”

“You've got my vote.” He nuzzled her shoulder. “Let's go back to bed.”

She stepped out of reach. “We can't. Mel needs this footage finished today, and I made a promise that she'd have it.”

There was a knock on the door. “Carly, the crew is set up.” It was Hank, her cameraman, sounding very harried. “Mel is waiting and we're ready to roll.”

“Be right out.” Carly gathered her papers quickly. “We have to hurry. Hank is getting panicky. I can hear it in his voice.”

With a sigh, McKay tugged on a shirt. “We'll finish on time. But if I see any more baby oil within a foot of me, I might have to deck a few of your crew,” he said darkly.

“Hank, we need to go diffuse with that fill light. Remember, we're doing a slow dissolve from the sparkling bubbles in the champagne glass to the sparkling diamonds by the roses.”

As the cameraman nodded, Carly checked her light meter one more time.

Across the deck, McKay stood motionless on his taped cue mark, one elbow braced on the rail. His endurance and concentration were amazing. He had run the same scene again and again, each time managing to look calm and unruffled. She wondered yet again about his background and whether staying silent and motionless on cue was part of his training.

“We've got a shadow on that champagne bottle,” she called to Hank, who nodded and rearranged the main key light. “And we're getting too much shine off the label again.”

Hank waved a can of dulling spray and went to work. With this schedule, every shot had to count, and they both knew it.

To make matters worse, at the last moment Mel had flown in to oversee the new shooting. Having her nervous boss underfoot definitely hadn't helped Carly's state of mind.

“The man is a dream,” Mel said sotto voce. “Are you sure he isn't a professional? Maybe he's worked in Europe and that's why we don't know him.”

Carly knew McKay was a professional at something, but it definitely wasn't modeling. “I doubt he's worked in Europe, Mel.”
Not as an actor, at least.

Carly's boss sniffed. “If the man's not in the business, he ought to be. I'm going to have a talk with him when we wrap. I could have him fully booked within a week.”

Over his dead body
, Carly thought.

Hank did a slow pan, then zoomed in on McKay's face.

“That should do it for this scene. Only two more to go.” Mel rubbed her neck. “I need a cigarette.”

She was searching her pockets when the ship's security officer appeared headed doggedly toward them. “Do I know that man?” Mel asked.

“Thompson is the security officer investigating Aimee Fiorento's death,” Carly explained.

“I can't imagine what he wants with us,” Mel snapped. “We paid that snake ten times what we should have, and he still wanted to gouge us for more.”

“Ms. Kirk, I need to ask you a few questions.” The notebook was already out, pen readied.

“You know everything there is to know about our contract with Griffin Kelly and Aimee Fiorento,” Mel said irritably. “And if you recall, we're
trying
to finish a project for your employer right now.”

Thompson frowned momentarily put off. Then the dogged look returned. “This will only take a moment.” He held out a grainy image that appeared to be taken from a passport photo. “Do either of you recognize this man?”

Bland eyes in a bland face. Groomed hair and a sober gray suit. There was nothing distinctive about the man.

“Never seen him, What about you, Carly?”

Had he been standing behind Aimee Joy at the bar? Carly tried to re-create the crowded scene, certain she had seen the man very recently. Maybe at the dock?

“I'm not sure,” she said her voice firm. “I may have passed him somewhere on the ship, but I've never spoken with him.”

Thompson held out the photo a moment longer. “You're certain?”

Carly nodded.

“I'll note your answers. Now I need to speak with Mr. McKay.”

“He's busy,” Mel said impatiently. “We're trying to shoot a commercial here, and I resent your intrusion.”

“Your comment will be duly noted.” Thompson pocketed the photo along with his notebook, then headed toward McKay.

“Unpleasant man.” Mel sniffed. “As if one of us tossed that woman into the pool.” She smoothed her Armani jacket. “Although I might have been tempted once or

twice.” She pursed her lips. “Be a dear and finish up here, Carly. I want to check this morning's footage. And come down as soon as you wrap. Daphne is getting everything ready, and I'd like to discuss some ideas I had for the sound track.” She strode away without a backward look, not waiting for Carly's answer.

It wasn't rudeness, Carly knew. It was simple obsession. To Mel, the job was everything—sun, moon, and stars.

Carly was well on her way to that same obsession. Only now for some reason she found herself wondering if she wanted to continue knocking out fourteen-hour days, with family, friendships, and all hope of a personal life sacrificed in the process.

It was the price of a career in the fast track, she thought.

Why had it never bothered her before?

Across the deck, Thompson was showing the photograph to McKay, who shook his head, then reached into his pocket, looking annoyed and distracted as he studied the high-tech pager he always carried.

It appeared to be more bad news, and Carly had had her fill of bad news.

To the east trade-wind clouds ran across the horizon. The scene was done, and she had more than enough footage to call for a wrap, but she couldn't seem to move. Some part of her wanted to continue like this forever, cruising turquoise waters with the sun on her shoulders and the protection of a man she barely knew.

As the wind gusted in great waves across the deck, and seabirds wheeled overhead, Carly realized that she couldn't face the goodbyes that were only days away. The man was lethal in bed and his body left her giddy, but that was only the start of what she felt for him. Love was the middle and end.

She nearly buckled at the realization. She had planned to be so careful, guarding her heart from any thought of happily ever after. But somewhere the script had changed and things had gone terribly wrong.

She stood in the wind, hands locked across her chest, watching Ford at the rail, watching her crew. Watching herself and knowing she was not the same woman as the one who had boarded this ship, ambition and camera case firmly in hand. She would never be that woman again.

Now she wanted the happily ever afters and was naïve enough to believe she deserved them. She was snagged tight, head over heels in love with a man who had made it clear there could be no tomorrows for them.

Carly was walking away before she knew it. Her shoulders stiff, she made a quick gesture to Hank, knowing he'd see to the wrap.

She refused to let her eyes fill with tears.

Carly Sullivan did not cry over the way sunlight skimmed the ocean and dusted a man's cheek. She did not dream about a big wedding or how to trim her workload so she could be home in time for wine and a quiet dinner. No strings, no commitment. That stipulation had been hers.

Behind her, footsteps echoed over the deck. She knew it was McKay following her. But when the danger was gone, he would be gone too.

She heard him call her name but she didn't stop walking, her senses in turmoil. She had never planned on more than a pleasant, sweaty bout of shipboard romance. There were no white picket fences for her. She was her mother's daughter, and she had seen too well the pain that false expectations could inflict. The ones you loved never stayed.

No white picket fences and no goodbyes.

Yes, Carly had stipulated the terms herself. They guaranteed her safety and her sanity.

She continued to walk blindly, bumping into strollers, joggers, and happy couples wandering hand in hand through the warm afternoon sunlight. She wasn't going to love Ford McKay or any other man.

She swore that again and again as she brushed away her tears.

W
hat was wrong with her? What had happened to change her expression from cool professional scrutiny to unfocused sadness?

McKay's first instinct had been to pull her to a halt and demand to know exactly what was going on inside her head. Then discretion intervened. There was no sign of threat or physical harm. She was smart and stubborn and doggedly independent. If she needed him, she would have let him know.