Seducing Her Rival (2 page)

Perfection in skin.

Damn. That was a phrase he hadn’t expected to jump into his head. It felt like Rosie—the woman who had raised him far more than his parents ever had—was standing right there looking on. Disconcerting at worst. Promising at best.

Curious about the sensation, he took a longer look at Mercedes. After the spark of electricity he’d felt when they first touched, the urge to see how she fit in his hands was almost impossible to resist. He went so far as to hope she lost her footing again. It’d be incredibly convenient if he could arrange for that to happen somewhere near his bed.

Then again, with the way she looked at him, he might not have to resort to waiting on convenience.

“You mentioned New York,” she said. “Do you live there?” She stood right next to him, not touching anything. Most women he knew couldn’t resist browsing in stores, but Mercedes ignored the stacks of clothes around her.

“I do. I have an apartment in Manhattan.”

“I should have guessed.”

Yet one more odd response. Apartment in Manhattan normally led to “where?” and “what floor?” and “what’s your view like?” Mercedes acted like she barely cared, even though she’d brought it up. “What about you? You sound like a New Yorker.”

“Queens. Lived there my whole life.”

He wanted to get to know her, but he definitely preferred the fun flirtation they’d been having outside. Something in her demeanor had changed since they stepped into the shop. She was…more reserved. No. Tense. Like she’d rather be anywhere else. Time to buy his new clothes and go.

As if she’d heard his thoughts, the clerk appeared with a stack of shirts—all his size. He’d have to make sure to add his compliments to a comment card. Sorting through them in seconds, he pulled out a bright blue that complemented his skin tone. Part of him wanted to change right there, just to see how Mercedes reacted, but something told him she was the kind of woman accustomed to men showing off—especially physically.

No, if he wanted a chance to get her alone—and he very much did—he needed to be subtler than the average Y chromosome dictated. He handed the clerk his suite key so she could charge the purchase. “May I use your fitting room?”

“Yes, sir. It’s right there.” She waved toward a narrow stall to his left.

Once the door was shut, he tore the stained Oxford shirt off, using the clean side to wipe his abs. The women murmured outside, and he didn’t want the clerk revealing his identity to Mercedes. He might not be able or willing to hide that he had money, but she didn’t need to know how much just yet. It’d be nice to have someone want to be with
him
. In seconds, he’d tugged the new shirt down and strode back into the shop proper.

“Here’s your key, Mr.—”

“Thank you. I’ll make sure to let your boss know how helpful you were.” Before the clerk could say anything else, he waved toward the door. “After you, Mercedes.”

As soon as the blonde locked the door behind them, Mercedes shook her head, a thoughtful expression on her exotic features. “You just paid fifty dollars to have a clean shirt for two hours.”

He shrugged and smoothed the shirt over his chest, trying to see the problem. “And?”

“It’s only…that woman probably has to work at least twice that long just to earn the same amount.”

Oh Christ, she was one of those people who balked at spending money. No wonder she hadn’t cared about his apartment. But what was he supposed to do? Hoard cash in his penthouse or some offshore account where it didn’t do anything?

Lucas knew better. Rosie had made sure to reinforce the message—people with money had a responsibility to spread it around and keep the gears of the economy turning. “If people don’t buy those shirts, she’ll be out of a job entirely. Besides, unless I wanted to wear a Royal Caribbean shirt and be a walking advertisement for a couple hours, my options were limited. We’re a captive audience on board. It means they can grab us by the balls and squeeze…and we get to pay for the privilege.”

Mercedes shook her head, dark hair fanning out around her. “This is not my world.” A tiny snort escaped her. “I wouldn’t even be here if not for luck. I won the cruise in a charity raffle. I’d planned to do whatever I wanted on the trip, but with fifty dollar T-shirts, I’m not so sure that’s realistic.”

So she wasn’t cheap. She was just strapped for cash. That was a different situation entirely. “Well if you find yourself in dire need of clothes, feel free to find me. I’ll take care of it.”

She arched a brow at him. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those pretty, rich boys whose idea of giving back is buying everything in sight? You don’t even know me. Why would you offer something like that to a stranger?”

He bit his tongue before he said something stupid. “Maybe because I’m a great guy and hate to see a beautiful woman sad over something as fixable as clothes?”

“I have clothes enough to not let the want for more depress me. But”— a gleam shone in the depths of her eyes— “if you’re throwing your money around, how about a charitable donation instead?”

What with the millions he was putting into the children’s hospital that had led to both of them being on this cruise, not to mention his plans for a new charter school in Rosie’s honor… Even for him, this would be a banner philanthropic year, at least as soon as the zoning board approved the land use for the school. But he wasn’t opposed to doing more, especially if it was a good cause…and made her smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“I might not be desperate for clothes, but there are people who have next to nothing. Children who go hungry, who can’t afford school supplies or a safe place to play. Those are the ones who need your help.” She waved her hands as she spoke, talking with the kind of passion usually reserved for evangelical preachers. Lucas was drawn to the heat of her enthusiasm, the fire in her eyes. It was just like the way Rosie used to talk about the ballet.

It was a type of passion he could appreciate. And the way she ignored his offer to shower her with gifts in favor of nudging him toward the less fortunate made her shine like a diamond among the rocks. A long time ago he’d convinced himself her ilk were less common in the real world than dragons. Most women in his circles were gold diggers.

They didn’t even have a word for women like Mercedes.

Suddenly her background became clear. It was more than the difference between a place in Queens and a penthouse in Manhattan—she worked for a charity of some sort. He felt Rosie nudging him again. And just like that, he knew how to win Mercedes over. “While I’m more than happy to wire some money to whatever charity you name, why don’t you join me for dinner tonight at the captain’s table? I bet he might have simple ways to get more donations for places just like that while you’re on board. And then afterward maybe we can go out for drinks and dancing to celebrate.”

The ship’s whistle blew, the deep bellow of air obliterating all possibility of conversation for a few seconds, and the boat lurched slightly as it left the dock. Mercedes lilted to the side, not quite falling into his arms but close enough. He caught her with her back arched against his forearm, the perfect position for a romantic kiss he didn’t have the right to give her—at least not yet. She bit her lip, the rosy flesh pulling itself free with agonizing slowness.

Half a second before he threw caution to the wind and kissed her anyway, she nodded. “It’s a date.”

A date. With a woman who didn’t give a shit who he was and balked at him spending money? He’d been dreaming about this moment since college.

He couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face or the way the ghost of Rosie’s laughter echoed in his head.

Chapter Two

Captain’s table.

Once Mercedes heard those words, she had forced a smile and parted ways with Lucas. With the way her instincts had scr
eamed
walk aw
ay
when he’d dropped the money on the T-shirt, she’d almost blown her first opportunity to snag a donation for Better Todays. Not to mention the very man she’d wanted to escape had been the one to steer her back on track, proving that maybe she wasn’t ready for the sort public hobnobbing the cruise would entail. There was a reason Kelsey was Better Todays’ public face anywhere outside their known neighborhood. Mercedes could turn on the charm when she had to, but up close and personal, she had a tendency to burn too hot and cold.

And the way she tingled everywhere Lucas had touched had her brain screaming, “Hot! Too hot!”

After the required safety drill, Mercedes wandered the ship for over an hour, lost in a haze of bright lights, shiny-happy people, and what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-going-to-dinner-the-first-night-at-the-captain’s-table? But she’d already agreed. Not to mention they needed the money,
and
she’d given Lucas a tiny sneak peek at her issues with rich people and he’d taken it all in stride rather than acting like it was something she needed to get over. Besides, any man who didn’t balk when she started with the gesticulating and ranting was worth a second look.

Who was she kidding? She didn’t need a second look. Lucas was too delicious to pass up.

Plus, he had a point about talking to the captain—Mercedes hadn’t expected to have this kind of opportunity. Some quiet, one-on-one conversations that led to her handing out cards, sure, but not something that could go ship-wide. Of course she’d do it—as soon as her heart stopped racing about the thought.

It
had
to be nerves about the dinner and what could come of it—a charity event—not drinks and dancing with Lucas that had her heart behaving so erratically. Not excitement about the idea of him sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her close. Nope. Definitely
not
that.

Maybe if she told herself often enough, she’d actually start to believe it, because she was not going to lose herself in the arms of some rich guy. Once was more than enough.

After forcing herself to face her fear of heights and circle all thirteen public decks—apparently those top two were off-limits unless you had more money than God—she realized she was passing everything and seeing nothing. That included the drop-off from the rails. She refused to believe thoughts of Lucas and dinner had managed to overpower her fear.

If it was, all she’d have to do was spend every moment with him and she’d have no trouble keeping her promise to Marco.

Stupid guilt.

Stupider heights…

Inching toward the starboard rail on the sports deck, she risked a glance down. So very, very far down. She gripped the rail so hard her nails dug into the wood. Peeling her fingers free, she backed away from the edge and decided that was enough fear-facing for the day—it was time to get ready for dinner and a whole other kind of challenge.

In her cabin at last, she stared at the contents of her suitcase; her heart alternately pounded and stopped beating at all. She dug through the clothes, hanging up everything she rejected for dinner and throwing the others on the blue couch a foot a way. Thank God Kelsey had hit some high-end resale shops with her before she left New York. The dressier stuff from Mercedes’s suitcase was actually designer, but it was at least a few seasons old. In her experience, people with money
always
noticed stuff like that. The best she could hope for was that Lucas wouldn’t care.

She glanced around her cabin. Prior to meeting Lucas, she would have jumped for joy at the luxurious queen-size bed with its built-in reading lights and the flat-screen TV on one wall and the gorgeous ocean view on the other. But now the only thing she saw was how woefully inadequate she was for dinner. She wasn’t suited for playing spokeswoman and wooing money away from the fifty-dollars-is-a-cheap-T-shirt crowd.

Mercedes had grown up in consignment shops where not even a pair of her secondhand jeans originally retailed for what Lucas had spent on his T-shirt. And now? She played secretary for a local mechanic, waited tables a couple nights a week, and put all her spare money and time into Better Todays. It might not be a world full of glitz and glamour but it was a good one, one she’d earned a place in, one she loved. Still, she stared at the dresses, wishing for a fairy godmother, and pictured Kelsey waving a magic wand. Smiling, she looked at the dresses anew, trying to find one best suited to dinner and getting people’s attention.

She spied a strip of black lace and laughed, realizing there was only one person’s attention she really cared about. She tugged out the cute embroidered Christopher Kane minidress. Kelsey had even fashioned her a wrap to go with it and soften the look.

The leather-and-lace dress was sexy enough for her plans with Lucas after dinner. She thought about that devilish grin, and the muscles, and the way his voice made her toes curl.

And the way his witty flirting kept her on those same toes, making her want to play off his one-liners.

Not to mention the shivers that coursed through her every time she remembered the way his hand had covered hers, holding it tight to the strength of his arm.

And the fantasies she’d played out in her head about where drinking and dancing could lead…

She could only imagine what it would be like waking up to him in the morning. Her head on his chest. His hand cupping the curve of her ass. His dick going hard against the leg she had wrapped over his…

Before any of that could happen though, she needed a shower. Considering where her mind had gone—again—possibly a cold one.

“A fling, Mercedes. New Yorker or not, you don’t live in his world and you’re not going to change your personality so you can. Been there, done that. This isn’t the time to have a happily-ever-after fantasy.” The pep talk didn’t help much; all it did was conjure images of holding hands in Central Park and skating at Rockefeller Plaza.

Definitely not fling appropriate.

She stepped out of the steam twenty minutes later, with rosy skin and clean-shaven legs. Once she had her hair styled and makeup on, she slithered into the dress and tucked her feet into four-inch periwinkle heels that perfectly matched the embroidery along the hem and shoulders.

Catching her reflection in the mirror, she squared her shoulders and smiled. “Oh, honey, rich boy won’t know what hit him.”

She sucked in a breath and the smile faltered. It had been too long since she dated—six months by last count—and she was not excited in the least about the possibility of Lucas walking away if she disappointed him.

And now, she couldn’t even work up a proper false bravado to leave her cabin. After far too much time worrying, she focused on what should really matter the most for the night—Lucas, of course—but even more than that she wanted donations for the kids. If Lucas wasn’t really behind helping her with that, all the tingles and heat in the world wouldn’t make him worth her time.

Embrace my ass for what it is or enjoy the view when I walk away.

…

“Mr. Bellamy, may I show you to the captain’s table?” The maître d’, a slight man with a French accent and delicate features, waved toward the dining room.

Shit. The entire waitstaff would call
him by his surname. He’d made sure to tell the captain, but obviously word hadn’t gotten around. “I’m waiting for someone but I’d really prefer if everyone just called me Lucas. People find out who I am and…” He waved a hand through the air. “You understand.”

“Of course, sir.” By the way the man frowned, he clearly didn’t understand, but he knew how to do his job, which meant keeping the passengers happy.

“Fantastic. If you could make sure to let the rest of the dining staff know, I’d appreciate it.” Sometimes being a “celebrity” had its issues. Shortly after he’d booked his suite, someone in the know had gotten wind Luc Bellamy would be on board to scope out the ship for another hospital fund-raiser he had in the works. There must’ve been some sort of ship-wide message to woo him above and beyond the normal level of attentiveness, and he really would’ve preferred to remain anonymous.

He needed to know how they treated their average guests, not faux royalty.

Before the year was out, he planned to be back here with a group, some of them Manhattan’s power players. Part of their ticket price and the proceeds from their exclusive excursions would go toward funding a pediatric oncology wing. But most of his guests would likely be treated just like everyone else on board—not like this.

Lucas was excited about the fund-raiser, but not so much about his fame—not anymore. Heir to a fortune. On multiple lists of America’s most eligible bachelors. He was a prince without the title. On the upside, it had garnered him the invitation to dinner tonight and allowed him to do some unauthorized in-port shopping. Too bad not everyone appreciated the man beneath the money. Once upon a time, he’d loved the attention. Women. Parties. Celebrity status. All of it. Now that he didn’t need the media machine, he craved a bit more anonymity.

Mercedes wasn’t the first woman he’d met who didn’t know who he was. She just happened to be the first who acted interested in something more than his penthouse and stock portfolio. The way she’d balked at what little of his wealth he’d shown her actually made her
more
enticing. Had she not displayed such indifference earlier, he might not have thought to invite the lovely Latina with the flair for the dramatic along to dinner.

He just needed to tread with caution. Obviously, whatever charity she worked for could use financial help—which he was more than willing to give—but he couldn’t just throw around his wealth or influence. She wouldn’t appreciate that at all, at least judging by her irritation over the T-shirt. He couldn’t help but think flashing his money and name would only push her to believe there wasn’t anything else to him, and he liked that she saw more than that.

On the other hand, he also needed to keep her at a bit of a distance. Too close and she could wind up believing this was more than it was. Either that, or he just needed to be upfront that a fling was the only thing he had in mind. Luc Bellamy didn’t do relationships. Too emotional and messy for his taste. Honesty definitely seemed the way to go with Mercedes, especially since he already had one lie by omission standing in his way.

As seconds ticked into minutes, fewer and fewer people entered the dining room. He started pacing slowly in the corridor. He couldn’t have blown it already—they hadn’t even talked about where tonight might lead. Lucas thought back to their earlier conversation. She wanted him to prove his willingness to help out. So he’d arranged for her to speak to the captain. On a more personal note, he was flirtatious. And polite. And…

And his breath caught as she stepped from the bank of elevators.

She was the most ridiculously beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her hair shadowed half her face in an ebony Veronica Lake peekaboo. The dress showed off a little more of her legs than he’d seen earlier, but she somehow managed to make a black leather minidress look elegant. How did she achieve that in the Caribbean heat?

Lucas stepped up and offered her his elbow again, which she took, her fingers digging in slightly like she was nervous. The pressure disappeared almost as soon as it started though. “You look amazing.”

Hair covered her face as she dipped her head. “I was worried I’d worn too much.” The sarcasm and laughter dripping from her voice were impossible to miss.

“Not for dinner.” He wanted to smack himself as soon as he said it. Way to be forward—again. Flirting like that in private was one thing. With the people they were likely to encounter inside, he needed to tone the innuendo down a notch. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s not too dressy for dinner at the captain’s table, I meant.”

Straightening, she grinned at him and reached up to tug on his conservative yellow-and-gray striped tie. “Does that mean it won’t work for drinks and dancing? We’ll have to discuss what I should change into.” She let out a fluttering sigh. “Honestly, I’m just glad you don’t hate the dress.”

Hate it? How could any straight man within visual range hate a dress that hugged her curves and showed almost demure peeks at the skin beyond the leather? “Not at all. In fact, I suggest you wear it every time we’re together.” She lowered her head again and the curtain of her hair begged to be touched. He trailed his fingers along the silken waves until he came to her chin and tipped it back up. “Shall we?”

The maître d’ nodded at him and adjusted his jacket as they approached. “Welcome to the Adagio dining room, Lucas and…” he checked a list on his clipboard, “I’m sorry, miss, I don’t believe I have your name.”

Lucas frowned, hoping the maître d’s error was a mere slip and not a slight toward his dinner guest. “Mercedes Vega. Her name is right next to mine, Jean-Paul.”

“Ah yes, forgive me, Ms. Vega. Right this way.”

They wound through chairs upholstered in a rich gold brocade and tables draped in stark white linens, and Lucas could feel stares following them. So could Mercedes. “What is with these people?”

Lucas tugged her closer and whispered through her hair, “The women are glaring at you for having the nerve to look like you do and the men are checking out your ass.”

She laughed, low and throaty, and his cock threatened to jump to attention and salute. “Well, it is a pretty nice ass, if I do say so myself.”

“I’ll have to reserve judgment.”

“Excuse me?” She choked on the laughter.

They reached the long table beneath the immense chandelier and the maître d’ pulled out a chair for her. Lucas held her fingers as she sat, then leaned in close again. “I haven’t really seen you from the back tonight. Reality might not match what’s in my imagination.”

The way she tipped her head up left her lips only inches away from his. Once more, close enough to kiss and almost impossible to resist. “It might even be better.”