Dark Moon (11 page)

Anna gave Cole a brilliant smile. “You must be an important guest.”

“I don’t know about that,” he allowed acting like a bigwig who was struggling to seem modest.

Emma went with her ditz brain girlfriend impersonation. “You’re rich,” she burbled. “He respects that.”

Anna nodded. “You have some time before dinner. Emma told me you’d like to have her intimate areas shaved, but she’s a little nervous about it because she’s never tried it before. Do you want me to do it now? You might like to watch.”

“I don’t think we have time to do it right. Maybe later,” Cole answered easily.

“Yes, of course.”

“I think we’ll go back to our room and get ready.”

Emma felt like she’d just been granted a reprieve, but when he didn’t move, she wondered what he was up to now.

Anna gave him an inquiring look.

He cleared his throat. “I guess you’re an expert on the
Windward
. Do a lot of the men like the look of a shaved pussy?” he asked.

“I don’t comment on the guests’ tastes,” Anna said stiffly.

“Yeah, but between you and me, I’d like to get a feel for the vibes here.”

“There are no vibes. Really anything goes.”

“You’ve been part of scenarios?”

“Yes.”

“And you work on slaves, too?”

Anna looked even more uncomfortable. “We don’t talk about that.”

“I guess the rules are different in the beauty salon. I was getting acquainted with some of the services. Stuff I hadn’t even thought of. Like my facilitator was saying that Emma could be part of a slave market with women presented for my selection. Or I could have my mark tattooed on her if I wanted.” He paused and dropped his voice. “Some men even have it done as a brand. With the woman chained to a post.”

Emma couldn’t hold back a gasp.

“I haven’t made up my mind,” he said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Do I get a say?” she snapped.

He reached out and stroked his finger against her cheek. “That depends on how much you want to please me.”

oOo

Bruno Del Conte kept his voice even and his hands at his sides, but he knew he wasn’t fooling his senior security officer. Something was amiss on the
Windward
, and his temper was threatening to boil over.

“What have you found out about Joseph Naguro?” he asked.

“He was here as a slave—on a one-year contract. He had three more months to go. He could swing either way—straight or gay.”

“You looked at all his scenes?”

“Well, some of it on fast forward. He was in demand by a lot of clients.”

“Did some of the action get too rough for him?”

“Maybe not for him. He might have been reacting to conditions for some of the women.”

“Such as?”

Walker shifted from one foot to the other. “There were three deaths among the female staffers who had contact with him. We do try to keep that quiet, but word apparently leaked out to cast members.”

“Okay. I want any troublemakers brought directly to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What have you found out about Ms. Ray?”

“I thought it was more important to background Naguro first.”

oOo

In the hallway, Emma kept her head down and spoke in a low voice, playing the part of the woman who was here as Cole Mason’s girlfriend.

“I came here because I thought it would be fun. You’re starting to spook me with that slave market and branding stuff.”

“Just relax, honey,” he said with an edge in his voice, and she wondered exactly where this was going.

 “You saw the hair in the treatment room?” she said in a barely audible voice.

“Yeah,” he muttered and kept walking.

“And what did you smell?”

His head swung toward her, then away.

“What I expected to smell.”

“Okay.”

In the room, he headed straight for the shower, leaving her to get ready for the evening.

She sat down at the dressing table. She’d never spent a lot of time on hair and makeup, but she’d gotten some inspiration from the pictures she’d seen in the beauty salon.

She swept her hair up, fastening it with combs she found in her luggage, then tackled the makeup that had also been packed for her, applying eye shadow, liner, color base and blusher. Then she polished her nails.

Cole emerged from the bathroom and started getting ready. “I hope Del Conte doesn’t expect us to dress up for dinner,” he muttered as he inspected himself in the full-length mirror.

“This is a fun-type cruise,” she answered. “It’s got to be informal.”

oOo

Cole had been trying to distance himself from Emma, but when she spoke, he glanced up, then almost lost the ability to breathe. Usually her appearance was no nonsense, but she’d put on a white sundress that cupped her breasts and clung to her hips in a way that made him want to rip the damn thing off of her and throw her onto the bed.

She’d also applied makeup he’d never imagined her wearing and painted her nails bright red, showed him a side of her he hadn’t seen before.

When she caught his expression, she flushed. They stared at each other for long moments, and he knew that if they didn’t get out of the room soon, they were going to miss the big dinner.

Quickly he checked his watch. “Time to go.”

“Will I do?” she prodded.

“You know you will,” he snapped, then headed for the door.

He’d studied the maps of the ship. When they stepped out of their room, he led her down the corridor to the elevator, which they took to Deck Five.

Tough looking men who seemed more like bouncers than an honor guard stood on either side of the elevator door when they stepped out.

“Just a moment,” one of them said. “Can I see your room key?”

Cole handed over his room key card, and the guard ran it through some kind of scanner.

“Thank you, Mr. Mason,” he said. He tipped his head toward Emma. ‘Ms. Ray.”

“Kind of strict security,” Cole murmured. “Do you ever relax and have fun?”

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” the man answered. “Right this way to the owner’s dining room.”

He hadn’t realized they were eating in a separate room.

When Emma gave him a questioning look, he took her arm, ushering her to a doorway where another guard stood.

The room beyond was pretty large for a private dining room. In fact, it was more like a supper club—with only one round table that seated eight. It was at the left side of the room, leaving a large space in front of a thirty-foot wide stage.

“Fancy,” Emma breathed as they stepped through the door. Two couples stood in the general vicinity of the table. Cole studied them. One of the men was short and pudgy and accompanied by a breathtakingly beautiful blond. The other man was taller and fitter. His companion was a beautiful light-skinned black woman.

The two men were eying Cole and Emma. The women kept their gazes fixed on their companions.

A dark-haired hostess came walking toward the newcomers, carrying a tray of champagne flutes and wearing a black dress that barely covered her ass.

Cole glanced at her, then did a double take. The top of her bodice cradled the bottom of her creamy breasts, pushing them up and thrusting them forward.

He’d seen revealing outfits like that before, but the centers of the woman’s breasts had always been covered. In this case, her erect nipples were front and center, pointing toward him. It might have been a turn-on under other circumstances. Like if he hadn’t been standing next to the woman who was his lifemate. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

From the corner of his eye, he caught her shock.

“Champagne?” the hostess asked, positioning the tray so that her breasts projected out onto it.

Emma swallowed. “Thank you,” she managed as she took a flute.

“Well, that was startling,” Cole said when the woman had departed.

“Uh huh,” was about all she could manage.

Cole watched the other two men in the room as the hostess glided toward them. It was clear that they liked the little sideshow.

The pudgy guy reached to take a glass, brushing his hand against the woman’s breast. She smiled at him, kept smiling as he closed his fingers around her nipple, tugging and twisting.

The woman next to him gave a nervous laugh.

Beside Cole, Emma dragging in a startled breath. He reached down to clasp her hand, steadying both of them. Every time he thought he understood this place, something else happened to shake him up. And if that was true for him, it must be doubly true for Emma.

One thing for sure, Bruno Del Conte was perfectly comfortable making the rules here. This was his kingdom, and if he wanted nipples poking at the champagne flutes, he could have them. And if he could treat the hired help in such a demeaning way, what could he do to a woman who was being held captive?

Unpleasant possibilities flew through Cole’s mind, and he tried to focus on something else. No point in getting worked up when he could do nothing about Karen Hopewell right now.

To their right a hidden door opened, and a man and woman stepped into the dining room. Cole knew at once that it was Del Conte himself—with a companion who looked like she came from a Middle Eastern country. Or perhaps she was a native American. It was difficult to tell with her eyes so heavily made up.

Their host was tall and good looking, with a shock of silver hair and a lion-like command of the room. Everyone there could be his prey, although Cole judged that some of them weren’t smart enough to know it.

“Thank you for joining me,” he said, like they’d had a choice.

Apparently, not everyone was as reluctant as Cole and Emma to indulge their host.

“A privilege,” the pudgy guy gushed. “I’ve wanted to come here for a long time. And it’s an honor to be invited to the captain’s table.”

“I hope we’re living up to your expectations,” Del Conte said, his voice smooth as the sea on a calm day.

“Oh yes. Definitely. I loved that science fiction scenario. That alien female was something else”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it. We should introduce ourselves. I’m Bruno Del Conte.” He gestured toward the woman beside him. “And this is my companion, Maya.”

“Henry Davis,” the fat guy says. “And I’m renting out Vivian here.”

The woman he was “renting” kept her face impassive.

The taller man was Stewart Battle, although Cole thought that might be an alias. The woman with him was Ivy Edwards.

Cole and Emma introduced themselves.

“Shall we sit down,” Del Conte suggested.

They arranged themselves around the table, and Cole was unhappy to discover that Del Conte placed himself next to Emma. Which meant that he was interested in her. Or he wanted information. Either choice was a problem.

A waiter came in with a tray holding plates of salad. He was a good-looking black man, naked except for a loincloth.

He courteously set down the plates, then offered guests a choice of dressings.

Werewolves didn’t eat much salad, but Cole asked for Thousand Island dressing. Emma made the same selection.

Del Conte took a bite of lettuce, then said, “I like to dine with different guests. Get to know the people who avail themselves of the
Windward
. This is a place where you can indulge any fantasy you’d like to explore.”

Cole saw Henry lick his lips. Stewart’s face took on a speculative look.

Del Conte ate some more salad. His guests followed suit, and Cole choked down a few bites, pushing the rest around his plate.

Del Conte tipped his head toward Cole. “How did you hear about us?”

“From an old college buddy.”

“One of our previous guests?”

“Yes.” Cole named a guy who had been mentioned in the briefing book, hoping Del Conte wasn’t going to check the reference. Or perhaps that had been taken care of along with the rest of his cover story.

The
Windward
’s owner turned to Emma. “I’m so pleased that Cole brought you here.”

She swallowed.

Before she could speak, Cole cut in, “We’re a couple.”

“Which means what, exactly?” their host pressed.

“That we’re together—exclusively.”

“You don’t like watching her with another woman?”

“No.”

“With another man?”

“No.”

Del Conte looked at them inquiringly. “Then what brought you to the
Windward
?”

“We were planning on having some fun together,” Cole answered, struggling to keep his voice even. “I’m sure you have equipment and settings we won’t find anywhere else.”

“Undoubtedly. What do you like in particular?”

“The ancient world.”