if they’re better dressed—not just designer suits and high-end Italian shoes,” she added fervently, “but advice, from my specially trained staff, about which styles play up their bodies to their best advantage. How to present themselves well for any occasion, whether it be corporate interviews or class reunions.”
“The classic ‘clothes make the man’ concept, eh?” Clive’s grin held a delicious secret: he was choosing his words as carefully as he’d select truffles from the high-end chocolatier on the ship. “Not an easy sell, in this era where khakis and polo shirts are considered acceptable business attire.”
Lola beamed her appreciation at the insightful Brit. Then she let her gaze linger on his imperial physique.
“You wear slacks with a thirty-four inch waist and take the same measure at the inseam, don’t you, Mr. Kingsley?”
He stood taller, his interest—and his zipper—more piqued than before.
Lola’s voice lowered into that seductive tone she reserved for closing deals with tightwad tycoons, selling them three suits rather than two. “And you’ve wisely chosen pleated pants, because that jock sock you call underwear holsters an eight-inch pistol, I’m guessing. And it’s half-cocked right now.”
DeSilva and the captain snickered, but the way Kingsley shifted, his eyes widening with admiration, made Lola feel bolder. After all, this was an adult cruise and these three men were here to ensure her pleasure, despite the havoc Fletch had wreaked upon her finances. It was their place to serve, which implied she was their mistress.
Lola liked that idea!
“While I’m on a roll, I’m going to press for the ultimate fantasy,” she continued with a shimmy that made her nipples whisper against her robe. “I want a man who’ll drive me over the edge with passion, until I come—and come again, dammit! A lover who’ll spend the time I need to—who’ll take control until I lose it! A man who’ll keep me coming all night long!”
Skorpio Skandalis stuffed his hands in his pockets, his nostrils flaring like a stallion’s as his eyes lit up with a wicked awareness of her. The temperature of the little alcove rose with his body heat.
“Well, gentlemen, there we have it!” he proclaimed, his Greek accent edgy now. “Miss Wright has stated her needs, and it’s our duty to meet them—while finding a way for her to repay the charges accrued in her name. How shall we go about this?”
Kingsley flashed them all a pointed smile. “I’m sure we’ll find myriad ways for a woman of Ms. Wright’s abilities to—right herself, if you will. And should you need assistance with formal wear—and you will, my dear—”
“Need assistance? Or formal wear?” she challenged.
The sexual energy these three generated sent her pulse into overdrive with a heady mix of testosterone and adrenaline. She was outnumbered here—in over her head. But she dealt with high-powered men every day, and she was getting too damn tingly to care!
Clive’s grin waxed cryptically British. “I hope you’ll allow me to be of service,” he replied with a slight bow. “While we have three boutiques that specialize in bling, only one carries clothing befitting a woman of your classic tastes and expertise—”
“No, no, no,” Rio DeSilva interjected.
On any other man, his stiletto mustache would look ridiculous, yet the security agent resonated with an eloquence harkening back to Spanish nobility. A Don Quixote of the open seas, he was…or perhaps a pirate of the Caribbean, considering the playfulness that bubbled like champagne in his tawny eyes right now.
“This is not about adhering to our agendas,” he reminded his colleagues, “nor is it about that loser who left her in debt, or about following cruise line rules and regulations. It’s about Lola. Whatever Lola wants.”
As Rio stepped forward to clasp her hands, Captain Skandalis looked on with a glimmer in his onyx eyes. “I couldn’t agree more,” he murmured. “From here on out, our policy shall be ‘whatever Lola wants, Lola gets.’
“So, Ms. Wright,” he continued, stepping up beside DeSilva to nail her with his bottomless black eyes, “what shall it be? Would you rather be removed from the Aphrodite in cuffs—handed over to the authorities at our next port? Or will you work off your debts at my discretion?”
Lola’s jaw dropped—and then she bristled. “That’s a helluva way to—”
“Whatever Lola wants,” the captain quipped in a clipped voice. “Make your decision. I’m late for my reception.”
Where did this guy get off, threatening to remove her from the cruise in cuffs? As though she had charged those things in the boutiques, with no intention of paying for them?
Lola slipped her hands from between DeSilva’s and planted her fists in her hips. It was a clichéd move, but it improved the view she was giving them. Perhaps her Very Cherry tips would change the Captain’s mind—or convince his cohorts to rescue her.
“Are you telling me what I can or cannot do?” she challenged. “Dennis Fletcher made that mistake, and I won’t miss that about him! You know damn well I’ll honor my obligations—my own legitimate expenses—no matter who—”
“A wise choice!” Skandalis crowed, his eyes flashing. “You’ve just become my love slave for the remainder of the cruise, Ms. Wright. I’ve already had your belongings transferred to more suitable quarters, and I’ve assigned you a personal companion to—”
Why did this suddenly sound like house arrest with a warden? And premeditated, no less!
Lola widened her eyes at Captain Scandalous. “You can’t just—”
“I am the captain, Miss Wright,” he stated with rich simplicity. “You’ve given yourself into my service, as a consenting adult. So for the duration of this trip, you belong to me, and me alone.”
The Greek leaned forward, until his chiseled nose and those deep, dark eyes were mere inches above her own. Persuasive, to say the least.
“You will relinquish all control to me, little lady,” he said in a voice that forced her to read his lips. “Control over your schedule, your personal problems and finances, your…sexual desires. You will be mine, and mine alone, Lola. Do we understand each other?”
Something told her not to sass him about that “little lady” thing. She blinked her yes, not dropping her gaze; not wanting to, even though every fiber of her body throbbed with resentment toward this chauvinistic goat who thought he was God’s gift to her fantasy life.
That was resentment she was feeling, right?
Skandalis snickered, flicking a nipple that had slipped from the front of her robe.
“Fine! We’ve reached our agreement!” he said in a wicked whisper. “So now you will go upstairs to your new room, to prepare yourself for my pleasure. And then you’ll report to the spa. Half an hour. Naked.”
5
When the door to the staff elevator slid shut, enclosing them in a cocoon that felt intimately risky, Rio knew better than to make any moves or telltale remarks. Lola Wright was trying to disappear into the corner across from him, filling the little cubicle with waves of her barely repressed wrath.
Lord, but she was all the more tempting when the roses bloomed in her cheeks and those eyes narrowed with catlike contempt! She’d given up all pretense at modesty: her robe gaped open beneath its sash, and her crossed arms bared most of those delectable breasts. He longed to ask why a nice girl like her—because he believed she was one—had painted her nipples red. But discretion got the better of him.
“You seem…upset.”
“Upset?” she retorted, hugging herself like he wanted to. “You haven’t seen upset until—”
“But your problem’s solved.