All the Pretty Poses (11 page)

“You’ll never get to dance for us if you’re
cooked to a crisp,” Sig adds, drawing my eyes to him.

“We can’t have that,” Reese says, his gaze
still locked on me. “Especially since she’s dancing tonight.”

Sig gives an excited whoop and I smile in his
direction. I sit up and scoot away from Reese so that I can regain
some kind of composure and clarity of thought. Even that doesn’t
completely alleviate the drugging affect he has on me.

“I didn’t think we’d get entertainment since
we aren’t clients.”

Reese answers Sig, but I can still feel that
his eyes are on me. “Normally that’s the case. Kennedy is the only
dancer we have right now, but I’m sure she can give us a dance that
will more than make up for the others.”

“Hell yeah, she can,” Sig agrees
wholeheartedly.

I clear my throat. “Well, if that’s the case,
I guess I’d better get downstairs and start getting ready.”

Reese puts out a hand to stop me. “I didn’t
say you were dancing
now.”

“But I need time to prepare,” I tell him,
pulling away.

“Not
that
long.”

I move to stand, trying my best to shake off
the disconcerting web he has somehow managed to weave around me.
“This is my first dance here. I don’t know where anything is
at.”

“I’ll give you whatever you need,” he replies
softly.

“No, you stay with your guests. I’ll call
Karesh.”

Before Reese can argue further, Sig
interrupts. “Don’t forget who you’re dancing for tonight,” he
teases with a wink.

I can feel Reese’s eyes on me as I answer
him. “Oh, I won’t.”

As I make my way back to my room, I take the
route I took the first time I left the crew quarters, which is by
way of the kitchen. There are four people, all in hats and aprons,
bustling about, probably getting dinner preparations under way. The
guy I saw yesterday, the one I assumed was the chef with his
taller-than-everyone-else’s white hat perched atop his rusty-red
head, glances up from some raw meat he’s inspecting and smiles in
my direction.

“May I help you?” he asks politely.

“I was just hoping to get a bottle of water
to take back to my room. Between the sun and the drinks…” I shake
my head as I let the sentence trail off. The chef wipes his hands
and comes around to where I’m standing.

“You’re Kennedy, right?” he asks, still
smiling as he reaches me.

“I am,” I answer, finding his light brown
eyes friendly and warm. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“We haven’t, but Brian told me all about you.
I’m Lee Howard, Head Chef. It’s nice to meet you.”

He extends his hand and I clasp it for a firm
handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Lee.”

He pulls me in to whisper conspiratorially
from one corner of his mouth. “Technically all the crew is supposed
to get their supplies from the kitchen in the bow, but those rosy
cheeks are telling me you need the good stuff today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t…I just didn’t even
think about that…” Now I feel like an ass for stopping in here like
I belong with the people up on deck rather than the worker bees
below. I hold out my hand to stop Lee as he turns toward an
enormous walk-in fridge. “I’ll get something down there. I’m so
sorry.”

He waves me off, continuing on into the
refrigerator. “No skin off my nose, Kennedy. Here,” he says,
handing me a brilliantly blue bottle of sparkling spring water that
probably costs twenty dollars rather than the fifty-cent bottles of
flat water that are probably stocked for the crew.

“No, I can’t. Really. It wouldn’t be
right.”

“Sweetie, enjoy it while you can.” Lee pushes
the water into my hand and turns me toward the exit that will take
me to my room. “Come talk to me sometime. Any friend of Brian’s is
a friend of mine.”

I glance over my shoulder to see him give me
a smile and a wave before he heads back across the kitchen to
return to checking his meat.

Checking his meat…that sounds bad,
I
think, snickering to myself as I crack open my bottle of water and
wind through the halls toward my room.

Once inside the cool, dim interior of my
quarters, I collapse on the bed and take a few more sips of water,
enjoying the light spin of my head as I think back on the day.

Reese has been charming and attentive,
flirtatious and sexy. He’s treated me like precious glass all day.
Just like the old Reese did.

I frown against the bitter thoughts that
follow, thoughts of how that Reese was a figment of my imagination,
of how that Reese up and left me without a word after all that
happened. I’m teetering between the glow of pleasure and the gloom
of memories when I hear a knock at my door. My heart lurches inside
my chest and a little bubble tickles the pit of my stomach.

I bolt up off the bed and hurry to the door,
pausing for a fraction of a second to take a deep breath and school
my features before I open the door. I wouldn’t want Reese to think
I’m happy to see him.

But the person on the other side of the door
isn’t Reese. It’s Karesh. I have to swallow my disappointment and
hide it behind a courteous smile. “Hi, Karesh.”

He nods. “Ms. Moore. May I come in?”

“Of course,” I say, stepping back to allow
him to enter. For a moment, my arm twitches as I consider hiding my
bottle of expensive water. But it’s too late. Karesh’s eyes have
already made note of it. Or at least that’s what my prickly
conscience is telling me.

“All the drinks and the sun today…” I tell
him with a smile, tipping up the bottle as though I have no reason
to hide it. Karesh simply smiles.

“I understand you’ll be dancing tonight. If
you have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Oh,” I tell him, feeling stupid over the
water now. “Yes, of course. I think I can find everything I
need.”

“The showroom is directly below the lounge.
You should be ready by nine.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“If you’ll let me know your music selection,
I’ll let Armand know. He’s in charge of the sound system throughout
the vessel.”

“Okay. Ummm, I guess
Feelin’ Good
by
Michael Bublé if you have it.”

“If not, he can get it. We can procure
virtually anything you want or need. If not immediately, then
within a day or two, depending on where we are in the ocean.”

I nod. “I think I have everything I might
need, but thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Also,” Karesh begins, clearing
his throat. “Mr. Spencer wanted these delivered to you.”

Karesh hands me a white envelope. I take it,
curious as to what Reese might want me to have that comes in such a
form. “Thank you.”

Karesh nods again. “Also, he’s requested you
at dinner tonight.”

Warm blood fills my face and gushes through
my veins. It’s pleasure, plain and simple. As much as I hate that
it does, Reese’s desire to have me around makes me happy.

“What time?” I ask, hoping Karesh can’t see
my pleased flush.

“Seven sharp.”

I nod again.

“If you need anything, just remember I’m at
300 on the phone. Otherwise, I’ll leave you to your
preparations.”

“Thank you.”

It’s Karesh’s turn to nod again as he turns
and leaves my room. He’s so formal it makes me feel like white
trash. Luckily, I grew up around the wealthy, so it’s nothing new.
And at least I know how to comport myself like I’m accustomed to
it.

As soon as he has shut the door and I hear
his light tread falling further and further from my room, I tear
open the envelope and remove a single folded sheet of paper.
Printed on it at the top is Reese’s full name followed by a
doctor’s name and a lab service’s name and address. Below that is a
long patient number and then a list of tests on the left and
results on the right.

My mouth falls open. They’re all tests to
check for STDs. They’re all negative, which is great, but at the
moment, I could care less. Fury heats my skin and floods my blood
with adrenaline.

How dare he? How dare that presumptuous
asshole have his lackey give me STD results as though me ending up
in his bed is a foregone conclusion.

“Like hell I’ll be at dinner tonight,” I
mutter as I stomp over to the phone beside my bed and angrily punch
in a three followed by two zeroes.

A voice answers immediately. “Karesh.”

“Hi, it’s Kennedy. On second thought, I don’t
think I’ll be able to make dinner tonight.”

“Are you ill?” he asks.

I bite back a bitter laugh and refrain from
giving him a very detailed explanation on just how “ill” I am. But
Karesh doesn’t mean ill as in angry; he means ill as in sick.

“No, but I had quite a bit to drink and I
need to get it out of my system before the show.”

While I’d love to give Karesh one heck of a
message to deliver to Reese, I know that’s not something that would
ever get conveyed appropriately. No, that’s something I’ll have to
tell him face to face. And, by the time I stew in this for the rest
of the day, I’ll be more than happy to do so tonight if he so much
as looks at me the wrong way.

“Very well. I’ll let Mr. Spencer know.”

“Thank you.”

If Reese wants a show tonight, I’ll give him
a show. A show for his guests. Just like I was hired to do. He’ll
see that I’m not his and that I never will be.

CHAPTER NINETEEN- Reese

It took every bit of willpower that I have
not to go to Kennedy’s room earlier. It’s not often that I have to
wait very long for something that I want. But Kennedy is different.
We have history. A lot of history. And she’s determined to let that
be an issue. But as much as I don’t like it and as hard as it is to
go slow, I’m equally determined to do whatever is necessary to get
her in my bed again. What began as a simple desire has blossomed
into an obsession. She’s under my skin, in my blood, and I won’t be
satisfied until I can feel her wanting me from the inside, tight
and wet.

When nine o’clock finally rolls around and we
are gathered in the show room, surrounded by crushed velvet covered
walls and the deep thump of music, I’m so anxious I’m ready to
snap.

With a casualness that belies my coiled
insides, I stretch out my legs in front of me and sip my
seventy-year-old scotch, my eyes glued to the curtain through which
Kennedy should soon be emerging. When the lights dim further and
the music fades, I feel like both holding my breath in anticipation
and exhaling it in relief.

Michael Bublé’s voice drifts from the
speakers. We all fall quiet and watch, waiting for Kennedy to
appear. Only she doesn’t. He sings the first few lines and there’s
no sign of her. The curtain parts the slightest bit and a
straight-backed chair glides smoothly across the polished floor of
the stage, but still no Kennedy.

The singer’s voice carries softly on, my
anticipation rising with it. Then, just as the music starts up with
a blare of horns, the curtain parts with a flourish and out struts
Kennedy. She’s wearing a hat again. A tall, black top hat set at a
cocky angle that hides her face in shadow. It perfectly complements
the tuxedo shirt and jacket that she’s wearing.

Moving in time with the music, Kennedy walks
past the chair, reaching behind her to drag it along with her as
she moves closer to center stage. When the horns stop, Kennedy
whips the chair around, raises one long leg and plants a high, high
heel in the seat. She’s wearing nothing from the waist down but
shiny black panties that I get a glimpse of every now and again.
I’ve never wanted to rip a tuxedo off someone before. But I do now.
More than I would ever comfortably admit to.

Kennedy folds her upper body over her bent
leg, trailing her fingertips from her ankle to the top of her
thigh, pushing the tails of the tux back just enough to give me a
gut-clenching glimpse of her deliciously-formed ass. She whirls
again, turning to sit primly on the edge of the chair before
leaning back and easing into the floor, her legs spreading into a
perfect split before she reaches behind her and flips the chair
over, setting it down in front of her.

For just over three minutes, I watch her work
that chair. She reminds me of a cat rubbing its long, slender body
in and around the legs, stretching over the back and winding around
the seat. It isn’t until her dance is nearly over that she rips her
hat off, like I saw her do that night at
Exotique
, and throw
it into the crowd.

Only this time she throws it to Sig.

Her hair floats around her face, but it
doesn’t conceal it, so I can plainly see the smile that she gives
him. I can also plainly see the look that she gives him as she
straddles the chair and arches her back. My blood goes from boiling
to icy in those few seconds. I have to grit my teeth when I hear
Sig say, “Come here and I’ll help you with the rest of that
outfit.”

Kennedy grins at him, the tip of her tongue
sneaking out at one corner of her mouth. For a few seconds, I think
of standing up, taking my own chair in hand and swinging it right
into Sig’s face until I hear bone crunch. But I don’t. God knows
how, but I don’t.

I’m fuming as Kennedy ends her dance and
walks in that loose-limbed way she has off the stage and back
through the curtain. I sit silently in my chair, listening to Hemi
and Sloane as I seethe, thinking to myself that Sig will keep his
mouth shut if he knows what’s good for him.

“I wish I was sexy like that,” Sloane says to
Hemi, still talking about Kennedy’s performance.

“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met,
baby. If that had been you up there, dancing in half of a tuxedo,
you’d be lying naked on that stage right now. Covered only by
me.”

“Good God! Will you two shut the hell up? I
was having a damn fine time until my ears started to bleed,” Sig
complains.