Sleeping with the Fishes (17 page)

O'Donnell turned to his first mate. "When was the last time we had a VSC?"

Artur
sidled over to her. "The king of the ship seems agitated."

"It's a long story,
Artur
."

"What is a VSC?"

"Vessel Safety Check."

The first mate checked a chart and said helpfully, "Two weeks ago yesterday,
cap'n
."

"Hmm.
I
guess
that might be all right." He shot Fred a distrustful look.
"Possibly."

Now Thomas was on her left. "Why is the crew treating you like you've brought the plague on board?"

Fred waved away his concern.
"A silly misunderstanding that led to, uh, the sinking of his last boat."
At Thomas's incredulous stare, she added, "But this one is much nicer than the
Fiona
.
Bigger, prettier.
Insurance paid for the whole thing, too."

"Dr.
Bimm
." O'Donnell had approached her carefully, like she was a rattlesnake. "Please go over there. Sit in that chair. Do not move from that chair until you need to throw up. Those are the circumstances that will allow me to overlook the fact that your name was nowhere on my paperwork for today's runs."

"No problem at all, Captain!" she said with a heartiness she didn't feel. She was getting off lightly, and she knew it. He had the power to order anyone—even Dr. Barb—off his ship.

"Little Rika, what did you do?"

"A trifle.
I swear!" She started to head to the chair, tripped over a coil of rope, and went sprawling. She would have skinned her nose on the deck if
Artur
hadn't moved like lightning and caught her. "Uh, I hate to trouble you, but if you could carry me over to my assigned chair?"

"It would be my pleasure, Rika." He set her down in the chair from which she wouldn't move until the puking started. "There you are."

"Thanks." To Thomas: "Stop staring and close your mouth."

"But—you're a marine biologist."

"I'm aware, Thomas."

"But we're only in the harbor."

"I'm
aware
, Thomas!" She leaned over the railing and tossed the rest of her breakfast into the waves.

"Little Rika, how is it that you're ill?"

"Seasick," she groaned, and threw up again. Oh, this was just lovely.
Just perfect.
Two guys had weird crushes on her and she was sexily throwing up.

"But," Thomas was hissing in her ear, "
you're
a mermaid!"

"I. Am. Aware.
Now get away from me unless you want some on your shoes."

Thomas didn't back away. Instead he leaned on the rail beside her and rubbed her back. "Why didn't you take any Dramamine?"

"Because I metabolize it too quickly.
I'd have to take forty for it to work and even then I don't know if—
urrgghh
."

"Fascinating.
And disgusting," he added.

Now there were two hands rubbing her back. "Little Rika, perhaps we should go back and do this tomorrow when you are not ill."

"She's not coming back tomorrow!" Captain O'Donnell yelled from his cabin, where he and the first mate were frantically counting life jackets, flame arresters, and visual distress signals.

"Not even if you paid me a million bucks," she snapped back. Then, quietly, "It's no good,
Artur
. The same thing would happen tomorrow."

"Uh—how are you two going to get in with me without these guys seeing it?"

"Trust me, O'Donnell will be thrilled to see me dive off his ship. As long as I stay out of his way, he could care less what
Artur
and I are doing."

"You're kidding. He's a manic about boat safety, but he won't care if you—"

"He's a manic about boat safety. Not passenger safety. Trust me."

Thomas shook his head and went to put on his scuba suit.

They had narrowed down the suspects to the new seafood restaurant ("
Cap'n
Clammys
!"), the new
Sleepytime
Hotel, and the old (but: recently massively renovated)
World
Trade
Center
. The plan was for the three of them to dive in, check out the underwater sites, pipes, and other detritus of construction, and see if they could pinpoint the bad guy. What they would do then, even if they could find a pipe pouring shit from one building, Fred wasn't sure.

Artur
favored strangling the owner until his neck cracked. Thomas leaned toward ratting them out to the EPA. Fred was torn. Surely the culprit, whoever it was, knew what he (or she) was doing. So there should be a greater consequence than a fine. But neither did she favor murder (though
Artur
claimed it would be a simple case of self-defense).

Talk about putting the cart before the horse
, she thought, diving in beside
Artur
as Thomas went, in the scuba-approved fashion, over backward.
First we
gotta
find the guy. (Or gal.) Right now, I'd settle for that
.

Instantly her uneasy stomach settled and she felt loads better. She playfully gave Thomas a pinch (which he probably couldn't feel through all the rubber) and darted past both men.

Feeling better, Little Rika?

Thomas was giving her a cautious thumbs-up.

Loads.
Don't use your telepathy to exclude Thomas
. She gave him the thumbs-up back.

Do not use my what to do what?

Never mind. Keep your eyes open.
And your nose.

I confess I do not know how to feel. I have no urge to taste that particular taste again.

Right there with you,
Artur
, Oh,
look
at this.

Thomas was gesturing them over, shining his undersea light at what she assumed was
Cap'n
Clammy's
from below.

Let's get to it.

Ah, Little Rika, your devotion to duty is commendable.

Yeah, that's what they keep telling me.

It was difficult to work the key card when Barb had already yanked his pants halfway down his knees, but Jonas managed. They staggered into the Presidential Suite, struggling with each other's clothes, kissing, panting, groaning,
gasping
. Jonas tripped over a divan and down they went.

"
Ooof
!"

"I'm so sorry!" Barb cried, leaning over him. "Are you all right? Am I too heavy? I'll get off."

"Not until I do," he growled, and yanked her down for another scorching kiss. He heard the thud as one of her pumps hit the carpet (the other one, he was pretty sure, had been abandoned by the door). He undid the one button on her
Givenchy
jacket and saw the
Victoria
's Secret matching navy bra beneath.

"Don't you think—" Gasp, moan. "—that this is—" Groan, kiss. "—much better than—" Slobber, sigh. "—lab coats?"

"I'm not giving them up. I just might stop buttoning them all the way." She was straddling him, tugging at his belt, when suddenly she went over as well. Now she was the one groaning, "
Ooof
!" and he
was
on top.

Not that he minded being on top.

"Fuck this," he laughed. "Let's go to the bedroom
. "

"A place this big must have one," she agreed, and he stood and pulled her to her feet.

In the ridiculously opulent bedroom, he carefully pulled off every item of clothing that he had so carefully picked out. She was considerably less careful; at least two of his shirt buttons were gone and he was afraid she had thrown his belt in the garbage.

"I've been thinking about what you said," Tug, tear. "For three days, I've been kicking myself for being such a fool."
Yank, pull.
"I had a perfect opportunity and I ran away like a ninny." Jerk, rip.

"I've been hiding in my apartment for three days," he said, pushing her back on the bed. "That's not much better. I just wasn't up to facing you after what happened."

"Yes, but that's my fault."

"Well, like I said, I kind of sprung it on you."

"Yes, but like I said, I—"

"Barb?"

"Yes?"

"I'm about to live the six year fantasy. Can we stop talking for, um, ten minutes?"

She grinned up at him. "Ten?
Oh, dear."

"Look, it's been a while."

"I'll try to stifle my humiliating laughter."

"That'd be great." He kissed her mouth, her lush, ripe mouth, savoring it so he could replay the moment over and over later, in his lonely bachelor's bed. He kissed her neck as her fingers ran through his hair (thank God Fred had bullied him into a shower!), as she caressed and stroked.

He tugged the cups of her bra down, exposing large creamy breasts and pink nipples that hardened when he stroked them gently. She gasped when he leaned down and sucked one into his mouth.

"Oh my God—Jonas—it's been years since—don't stop."

"Like I could if I wanted to."
He kissed her cleavage, stroked one breast while he lavished attention on the other one, and while he was doing that she was yanking at her bra and wriggling out of her underwear.

She rolled over until she was on top, and jerked and pulled at his shorts until they were on the floor. She looked over her shoulder and stared with some satisfaction at his hard-on.

"This is no time for a cutting remark," he warned her.

"In no way was I thinking of one. I was thinking about how men can be beautiful, too."

If possible, he got harder.
Definitely the boner of a lifetime.
A one-of-a-kind boner, never to be repeated.
Yep, there was no topping
this
bone, no way in Hell.

"Now fuck me," Barb growled in her schoolteacher voice.
"Right
now
."

He was wrong!
And never so thankful for it.
He watched in admiration and lust as she straddled his hips with hers, as she seized him firmly in her hot little hand and guided him inside her. She was more than ready for him and he slid all the way in without the smallest bit of resistance.

"That's better," she said cheerfully, and began riding him like a cowgirl. All she needed was the twirling rope.

He grabbed her hips and surged against her on the
downstroke
, thinking
I'm going to die I'm going to die she's killing me and thank God thank God
…

"Oh, Jonas, that's
wonderful*
. Don't stop!"
Bounce, bounce.

"I thought you weren't going to talk for ten minutes." He groaned while she slid up and down with exquisite strokes, while her breasts bobbed before him, begging to be kissed, while her mouth curved into a smile and her eyes sparkled.

"I never agreed to that," she said primly, which
was a riot
given what they were doing.

"
I's'pose
that's fair." He felt the familiar rumbling in his balls which meant the festivities would soon be over—he hadn't gotten off so quickly with a woman since college. He reached and found Barb's clit and stroked it gently, barely touching it, then more firmly on the
downstroke
, until she was riding his fingers as she was riding his cock, and then she shivered all over, leaned back, and shrieked at the ceiling.

His fingers whitened on her hips as he felt the rumbling start in his balls and race through is body until he thought the top of his head was going to come off. The room actually tilted one way and then the other as he desperately tried to focus, as Barb collapsed over him with a groan, as the greatest orgasm of his life tore through him like a—those things Fred talked about—

Don't think about Fred, idiot.

Tsunami.
Like a tsunami, that was it.

"Oh my," Barb gasped in his ear.

"You're my tsunami."

She sat up and stared down at him thoughtfully, face and breasts flushed from their exertion. "We'll work on the pet names," she said at last, and he tickled her until she begged for mercy.

"Well, that was a huge waste of time," Fred grumbled, tripping over an ice chest but righting herself in time. The captain helped her onto the ramp and she stomped down it. "Not to mention breakfast."