Going Overboard Read online

  “ANY PROBLEM IF I KISS YOU, MS. SULLIVAN?”

  “That depends,” she said breathlessly.

  “On what?”

  “I'll tell you as soon as I've figured it out.”

  His grin was slow and cool, as much a challenge as the glint in his dark eyes. “In that case, until you figure it out…”

  Carly wondered if she was losing her mind. But she couldn't turn away. She rose to her toes and traced his jaw. Her lips brushed his mouth in the merest hint of contact.

  Even that left her giddy.

  He smelled like soap and wind and the sea. His lips were firm, and she wanted far more than a brief touch.

  But she pulled back and ran a hand through her hair, wise enough to know exactly where this kind of curiosity would lead.

  “Very nice,” she said softly. “But more than enough, I think.”

  “For now.”

  Books by Christina Skye

  Defiant Captive

  The Black Rose

  Come the Dawn

  Come the Night

  East of Forever

  The Ruby

  2000 Kisses

  Going Overboard

  With Warmest Thanks

  to Earl Martin for his technical expertise, tactical details and great sense of humor;

  to Keith Swezey, a true miracle worker, for the crash course in fades, dissolves, pink gel filters and general lingo (“we'll super in the logo over the cruise ship”);

  to Sherry Pace for insights into shipboard protocol and security procedure;

  to Kathy Marks for firsthand knowledge of the miracles of ultrasound.

  Carolina Sullivan needed a man's body desperately.

  She scanned the humming cruise ship, working a knot in her neck. “What about the muscular guy by the stairs?”

  Her design assistant squinted into the streaming Caribbean sunlight, oblivious to the glories of St. Thomas rising in the distance. “Too pretty. He bloody well knows it, too.”

  “You're probably right.” The wind ruffled Carly's short red hair as she studied the man in question. Neither the flawless sky nor the shimmering expanse of tropical ocean helped her relax. “What about the young Van Damme type lounging by the deck chairs?”

  “Definitely YBG.”

  Young blond god.

  Carly knew the code perfectly by now:

  DDT: Drop dead thighs

  CTDF: Chest to die for

  HAA: Heart attack abs

  “I saw him in GQ last month.” Carly sighed. “We need someone completely fresh.”

  “So you keep telling me.” Carly's assistant rolled her eyes. “In the last three hours we've covered every deck on this misbegotten boat.”

  “Ship,” Carly corrected her absently.

  “Whatever. If we don't find a man here, we're sunk.”

  A former model with impeccable taste, Daphne Brandon was also Carly's dearest friend, and she had happily agreed to pinch-hit for Carly's regular assistant, who was enjoying her honeymoon in Tahiti. In the past five years Carly and Daphne had become deeply involved in their own pursuits, forced to maintain their friendship via cell phone and E-mail, and it had been a happy coincidence that Carly's assistant had gotten married just when Daphne had some free time. In the early days of her career, Carly had honed her photographic skills with the help of Daphne's practical experience on the other side of the camera, and being teamed up again now was a dream come true. If it weren't for Carly's current problem, the assignment would have been sheer pleasure.

  Instead of absolute agony.

  Daphne stared at the crowded deck. “When I agreed to stand in for your regular assistant, I had no idea you'd have me checking out half-naked male bodies.”

  “Is that a complaint?”

  Daphne grinned. “Not a chance.” She scanned a circle of young athletic types engaged in a noisy game of volleyball. “What about one of them? There's not an inch of flab in sight.”

  Carly wrinkled her nose. “No, something's missing. We need someone special, someone who projects complete control. At the same time he has to emanate brooding power, ready to explode under the right conditions.”

  “Yum yum,” Daphne murmured.

  A ball hurtled past and dropped into the pool, splattering Carly's legs. “Great. There go my snakeskin sandals. I'm glad they're only fakes.”

  Daphne didn't answer. She pointed across the deck to a tall, beautifully muscled man climbing the ladder from the pool. Water skimmed down his rigid abs and dotted his powerful shoulders. Every movement he made was smooth, every inch of his body a testament to controlled power.

  Carly felt a little punch of heat in her stomach.

  This was the one, she thought, mesmerized by those lean, rippling muscles.

  “Ground control to lunar lander.”

  Carly didn't answer. She was too busy imagining that lean body silhouetted against the warm golden glow of the sunset. She gave a soundless whistle when he tossed a towel over one shoulder, resulting in another display of rock-hard muscles.

  “Definitely HAA,” Daphne whispered. “I'd say he's your man.”

  After her years as a model, Daphne wasn't easily impressed but this man could inspire awe in the most jaded female heart. His abs were beyond stellar. In fact, his whole body was just shy of illegal.

  Carly dragged a hand through her hair. Experience had taught her that sheer looks weren't enough for a successful photo campaign. “I suppose he might work.”

  “Might?” Daphne whispered. “If you don't take him, I will. Be still, my beating glands.”

  “Heart,” Carly corrected fondly. “And you're married remember?”

  “Engaged. And just barely.”

  “The last I heard your wedding dress was being designed in Paris.”

  “All of which might change any second.” Daphne gave a long sigh. “Just kidding. My misspent youth is behind me, I'm glad to say.” She stared at Carly impatiently. “What are you waiting for?”

  “He's got the body, there's no doubt about that.” Carly nodded slowly. “He's got the walk, too. Quiet, with utter focus.” Carly raised her digital camera, framed a test shot, and captured her subject drying his extraordinary shoulders. The image in her viewer made her pulse spike. The man photographed even better than he looked which was saying something.

  She rested her camera on her arm, frowning. “What do you think he does for a living?”

  “A man who looks like that doesn't have to do anything but stand there.”

  “Be serious, Daphne. My whole project is at stake here. I need a completely fresh look for this set of commercials. The cruise people made that crystal clear before we left Miami.”

  Daphne clicked her tongue. “Too bad the original model they sent you didn't pan out.”

  Carly snorted at the thought of the well-coiffed California actor who had been booked for the commercials. Unfortunately, his body had turned out to be less than impressive, and Carly found out that his portfolio photos had been retouched with a blowtorch. She'd immediately launched her search for a temporary stand-in, all too aware that the close-up shooting had to start immediately if she was to meet the tight deadline. Until now she'd had no luck.

  She fingered her camera, studying the man across the deck. “He doesn't look like your usual cruise type. He looks too focused, not like someone who's here for idle pleasure.”

  “With a body like that, the pleasure would be anything but idle.” Daphne sighed. “The guy has to work out big-time. I'd say he owns a chain of upscale fitness clubs. Something sleek, all teakwood and mirrors. Hot, hot music.”

  “If he's that successful, he won't be interested. He would hardly need the money.”

  “Then forget money and appeal to his ego. Gush ove
r his amazing body.” Daphne gave another appreciative glance. “It's certainly worth gushing over.”

  “I don't gush,” Carly said irritably, snapping two more quick shots that turned out even better than the first. Did the man ever take a bad picture? “I especially don't gush over men.”

  “No, you never did that,” her friend said thoughtfully. “I was always the one going overboard, gaga over some poet or bullfighter. It took me a few years, but at least I

  worked it out of my system in time to find my wonderful David.” Daphne smiled wickedly. “Looks as if it's your turn. That man is the answer to all your dreams. You'd be a fool to let him go.”

  She was right. Carly knew she had to bag this prospect. Every photographic instinct was on red alert, screaming that he would bring her elegant, atmospheric theme to life.

  Now all she had to do was drop the bait and reel him in.

  Unaware that he was being tracked the prospect in question stretched slowly, ignoring the noisy volleyball game at the far end of the pool as he slid back easily into the water.

  “An Olympic swimmer,” Daphne mused. “Or maybe he tests jet skis for a living.” She watched him cut through the water with silent, powerful strokes. “Better get moving. Otherwise, you'll lose him.”

  Carly fought down a wave of anxiety, then squared her shoulders, smoothed her silk blouse, and reminded herself that this wasn't personal. It was strictly business. Emotions had no place in the equation.

  So why was her throat so dry?

  She grappled with her nerves as the man swam closer. Business, she told herself, bending down to make herself heard above the volleyball game. “Excuse me.”

  His head angled up. His eyes were a deep gold framed by surprisingly long lashes. One brow arched in a face of arresting angles and shadows. Carly saw experience, cynicism, and humor in his expression. It was a fascinating combination, especially to a photographer.

  “Ma'am?” He stood up slowly, water beading over his shoulders.

  Carly cleared her throat. “I'm sorry to interrupt your swim. I—I wanted to ask a question.”

  He smiled. “Just one?” There was a trace of a drawl in his voice.

  Carly wondered if he was from Texas or somewhere farther west. Wyoming, maybe. Not that it mattered. His body was all she needed. “Actually, it's more of an offer. You could say it's a business offer.” She gathered her courage and rushed on. “I'd pay you, of course. I realize it would be an interruption of your holiday, but if you're good, you could make five hundred dollars for an easy hour's work.”

  His eyes went a shade darker. “Sorry. I don't have any free time.”

  Carly ignored the frown edging down his forehead. She couldn't lose him now. “Then I could go higher.”

  His biceps rippled as he crossed his arms. “You could, could you?” He shook his head slowly. “Do you do this often?”

  “Only when it's absolutely necessary.” She tried not to be irritated or nervous. She needed him too much to bail out now. “Sometimes I can't find the right man any other way.”

  He laughed darkly. “I see you're honest. Most women wouldn't be. But I'm not interested.”

  Desperate, Carly bent closer as she saw success sliding out of reach. “Why not? It would only be for a few hours.” Behind her back she crossed her fingers. If he was as good as she thought, she'd try to persuade him to give her two full days, but she wasn't going to tell him that yet.

  “Just call me old-fashioned.” His eyes narrowed. “You see, I like to do the asking.”

  She barely heard him, already visualizing those sculpted shoulders against a sunlit deck. “In that case let's say seven hundred fifty an hour,” she said breathlessly.

  Pride and anger snapped across that controlled face. “Still not interested,” he curtly. “I don't bed down for money.”

  Carly blinked. “Bed?”

  “Or any other flat surface where you expect a man to perform.”

  She swallowed hard, her face burning. “Now wait a minute, you've got this all wrong.”

  “Nobody else available? Well, the day's still young.” He leaned against the pool ladder and studied her trim body, from silk blouse to delicate sandals. “Especially for a woman like you.” His lips curled. “Even without throwing in the money.”

  A red-hot haze of fury drove Carly's mission from her mind. “You think I want sex? With you?”

  One dark brow rose. “Don't you?”

  “You conceited ape. I wouldn't consider sleeping with you—not for a cool million.”

  “Got a redhead's temper, do you? I guess that shade didn't come from a bottle.” His gaze brushed her slender thighs and came to rest just above the hem of her short, drifty skirt. “Might be interesting to find out.”

  A fresh wave of fury struck as she realized where he was staring—and why. Someone needed to take this Neolithic throwback down a notch or two. “I'd rather get naked and dance with a cactus,” Carly snarled.

  He smiled as if he was enjoying the image.

  The smile only made her angrier. “Let's get something straight, tough guy.” Carly stood up stiffly, clutching at her silk scarf and the remains of her dignity. She should have known the man was too gorgeous to be true. The last thing she needed on her photo shoot was a walking case of male hormones and unbridled ego. She smiled tightly. “I'll use tiny, little words, so your tiny, little brain can take them all in. I don't want to have sex with you. Not now or ever.”

  “Just as well. At seven hundred fifty an hour,” he said thoughtfully, “you must expect a real workout.”

  For a moment Carly was speechless. A shadow moved at the corner of the pool, but she paid no attention. “Open your ears and try to understand. You're the last man on earth I'd consider having sex with.”

  She was shouting but she didn't care. Dimly she heard water splash. Someone called out across the deck.

  The man in the pool rose, reaching out a hand.

  “Forget it, Don Juan.”

  She turned her head and saw a volleyball hurtling straight at her. As if in slow motion, water sloshed up over the side of the pool as her infuriating Adonis jumped high. In one smooth movement he swung sideways, opened his hand, and captured the runaway ball in midair.

  Only inches from her face.

  It was a real shame he didn't have time to accept her offer, McKay thought as he savored the view of wet, clinging silk.

  Damned nice breasts, he noted as the redhead glared at the ball locked in his hand then down at the blouse dripping onto her shoes.

  McKay wasn't a man who followed the vagaries of women's fashion, but he recognized quality when he saw it. The flirty silk blouse and matching scarf had probably cost her a bundle in some fancy boutique. He had a feeling her strappy sandals weren't cheap either, and now they were probably beyond repair.

  Definitely a high-priced package, he decided. Teaching her a lesson might have held a certain appeal under any other circumstances. The lady was clearly spoiling for a fight, and McKay enjoyed a good argument with a woman who knew her own mind.

  He palmed the ball and tossed it casually to a deck chair with a withering glance at the collegiate type who had thrown it dangerously off course. “Sorry about your shoes, ma'am.”

  The redhead shoved wet hair from her face, oblivious to her clinging blouse.

  McKay was far from oblivious.

  No bra, he noted. And the lady was firm in all the right places. He took another look, surprised to feel a jolt of

  pure lust. The woman wasn't even close to his type. She was too pricey and too polished.

  Still, a man could look.

  He swung one hand out, brushing her shoulder as her scarf drifted past him in the water. In one easy motion he snagged the bright square before it could float away. “Looks like you're losing your clothes, ma'am.”

  She snatched the wet silk with trembling fingers, her cheeks burning. McKay found himself enjoying that too, before he pulled himself out of the water.


  He forced himself not to smile as he swept his towel off a deck chair and held it out. “Looks like you could use a towel.”

  A vein throbbed at her throat. “I'd chew plutonium first.”

  Furious and no mistake. Definitely a natural redhead. He shrugged calmly. “Suit yourself.”

  “Oh, I plan to.”

  “Carly, are you okay?” A slender blonde in orange capri pants pushed between them, looking worried. “I thought that ball was going to deck you,” she said breathlessly. “It's a good thing your friend has such amazing reflexes.”

  “He's no friend of mine.” The woman named Carly flung McKay's towel right back at him. “I might have caught it myself if Mr. Mesozoic here had given me half a chance,” she huffed.

  “No way. That ball would have nailed you.” The woman in the capris stared from one to the other. “Am I missing the subtext here?”

  “None that matters,” McKay drawled as he draped his towel over one shoulder. “Happy hunting, ma'am.”

  “Pig.”

  “Morning, ladies.” McKay gave a two-finger salute, then headed off through the crowded pool area.

  A perfect start to a perfect morning, he thought irritably. The pool was too small for a serious workout and the recreation deck was a battle zone. In the last twenty-four

  hours he'd been propositioned at least ten times by women in search of intimate companionship.

  Not one of them had been as blatant as the redhead.

  McKay laughed grimly. Given her fury, he figured he'd seen the last of her, which was just as well. This cruise was no pleasure trip for him. On the other hand since he was a healthy, red-blooded male, he couldn't help replaying the moment water had splashed high, soaking her silk skirt and blouse.

  McKay scratched his jaw. To give the woman credit, she hadn't expected to be doused caught in a blouse that captured every detail, right down to her dark, pouty nipples.

  He shook his head in disgust. Hell, McKay, forget about the woman s breasts.

  As he approached his stateroom, awareness prickled along his neck. Without any change in stride, he detoured down a side corridor, all his senses alert.