Chapter 17
Samantha
Killian pauses, adjusts his tie before responding. “There are loads of important people here tonight. I’d like you to help me make sure they’re kept happy, yeah. Check in with them, make sure they don’t need anything. Let me know if they do.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That’s it?” I want to ask, why me? He’s got plenty of staff to help him keep people happy.
He nods, looking awkward. Glancing around, he adds, “I have a signature drink for tonight I’d like your opinion on.” He motions to Scarlett. “Make Sam one of our specials.”
“You got it, boss.” Scarlett winks at me and then proceeds to pour five different liquors into a tall glass, top it with a splash of orange juice and a stick of tropical fruit. “One Hurricane.”
I grin, amused as I accept the drink. “At least you have a doctor on board to treat alcohol poisoning.” I take a sip and glance up at him through my lashes. “It actually isn’t bad. Like all the alcohol cancels each other out.” I lick a drop of the drink from the corner of my mouth.
“It’ll help the guests be looser with their cash.” He sounds distracted, and he’s staring at my lips. I’m wearing my favorite red lipstick. Is it too much?
I’m suddenly self-conscious. Am I overdressed? I wasn’t sure what to wear tonight, since I have no idea why Killian wants me here. But I figured I couldn’t go wrong with my one sexy dress considering most of the women on The Lucky Sinner tonight will be the half-naked dancers.
I flash back to the moment when I first spotted Killian at the bar, after his man Murphy pulled me out of a line of waiting people.
“Hey, Doc. Come with me. The Boss asked me to bring you inside.” He led me past the well-dressed people and around the metal detector, then pointed me toward the main lounge.
Killian’s back was to me, and his impeccably tailored gray suit showcased his wide shoulders, trim waist and taught gluteus muscles. Delicious. Classy. Powerful. I’d steeled myself against my attraction to him.
But I still wasn’t prepared for the moment he turned and met my gaze with those electric green eyes that seemed to see right into my soul and send a high voltage zap straight to my core.
My pulse thrummed at my throat, my breathing grew shallow, and I was held captive, cataloging every square inch of him.
His jaw like chiseled stone, the ever-present five o’clock shadow gone.
A tiny white scar glowed on his chin. I could barely stop myself from reaching out and running a finger over it.
That’s when I’d blurt out, “You shaved,” and was instantly mortified that I’d said that out loud.
A man walking through the doors catches my eye, pulling me back to the present. He has a heavily made-up blonde on his arm and is flanked by two huge bodyguards. It seems to take some effort for Killian to pull his attention away from me and move it to this man.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“That is Mr. Edward Glazer. A biotech billionaire and generous donor to the arts. He is definitely someone we want to keep happy tonight.”
I nod. Noted.
With one last glance at me that looks a lot like indecision, Killian leaves my side.
I watch him shake Mr. Glazer’s hand and then my attention goes to the twenty-something blonde in the black sequin mini dress clinging to Mr. Glazer’s arm.
Because she’s biting her lip and running her eyes up and down Killian like he’s her next meal.
I take a large swig of my drink. Then another as she offers her hand to Killian, and he lifts it to his mouth, kissing the back of it. Ugh. Gross. Her smile widens, and I imagine her lip filler exploding. I turn away, scanning the room.
The Italian mafia boys have taken up the leather couch in front of the stage, watching the dancers and talking among themselves. Rocco catches my eye and gives me a friendly wave. I lift my drink in a toast and smile back.
These men may be dangerous to their enemies—I’d heard what Rocco did to the Russian soldier who’d hit Lennon when she was held captive.
But they were protective of their own, and I appreciated being in their circle.
I wonder if they would protect me from Michael if they knew?
No. I can’t risk putting their lives in danger for my mistake.
I sigh, pushing thoughts of Michael from my mind and scan the rest of the lounge. The drone of conversations mingles with music pulsing through the speakers in the walls. Blue LED lighting on the floor reflects off the mirrored ceiling. It’s like a little fantasy bubble in here.
Vega and the quiet, curvy stunner who calls herself Skye are on stage and look like they’re having a blast. Skye executes a perfect ariel invert.
I catch her eye and clap with a wide grin.
She takes a little playful bow before focusing her attention back on her routine. Fast learner. I’m proud of her.
Sully is talking to three gray-haired men in tuxes, each holding a scotch glass. He’s not looking bad himself in a black Giorgio Armani suit, a crisp white dress shirt with the top button open and a freshly groomed beard. I’ll have to ask him who these men are. They look important.
The booths are filled and there are groups of people drinking, mingling around the lounge. I need to learn the players here so I can do what I’m being paid to do tonight and keep them happy.
A half hour later, the captain announces we’ll be departing.
I excuse myself from the Cline brothers, who own Cline Mercedes franchise, and Maria Cline, the eldest brother’s wife and former Miss Florida.
I’ve never been on a cruise and really want to get to the top deck to experience the ride out into the deeper waters.
I grab a water bottle from the bar before I head up to the sun deck.
The Hurricane went down way too smoothly, and I have a heavy buzz.
As I step out of the elevator, the strong sea breeze immediately whips my hair and dress into a frenzy.
My breath catches in my throat, and I grin like an idiot as I take in the dark blue, wide-open seas, and the gold-tinted clouds on the horizon.
There’s a live reggae band playing. The slow, rolling rhythm has my hips swaying lazily as I cross the deck, weaving between a sunken jacuzzi, surrounded by cushioned beds and sun chairs, and a glittering pool.
Buckets of iced champagne are positioned at convenient points around the seating areas.
I head to the railing and lock my gaze on the horizon. The hum of the engine vibrates beneath my feet, the music sweeping away all thought in my head. The wind is harsh against my skin, and my eyes are watering. I feel alive. Truly alive.
“Brilliant.” A masculine sigh floats on the breeze next to me.
I turn and see Mac has joined me, one hand gripping the railing, the other leaning on a cane.
He’s dressed in a tailored pinstripe suit, his eyes locked on the sparkling water, a content smile curving his mouth.
Despite the peaceful moment, I can see the toll his injury has taken on him in the deep lines bracketing his eyes and mouth, and the carved shadows beneath his eyes.
And despite getting stronger every day, his skin is still unnaturally pale.
I turn my attention back to the water. “Yes, she is.”
He chuckles. “I agree the sea is a woman. Irishmen are wary of her. Think she’s unpredictable, cold and dangerous. But the truth is, it’s the storms that come and rile her up. Those are what makes her dangerous.”
His words conjure up an image of Michael. I grip the railing tighter, like I can anchor myself in the present and not slip back into his clutches. “The trick is to outrun the storms.”
I feel him turn to study me. “You ever need a lifeline, love… you let me know.”
My vision grows blurry. Damn wind. Did Killian tell him about me needing money? Probably. My gaze shifts to him, and I force a smile. “Thanks, Mac.” Then I change the subject.
The evening progresses. The guests gather on the top deck to ooh and ahh as the sun dips below the cloud-studded horizon; the dining room opens and begins to serve upscale tapas; the gambling room fills up and the girls work their magic on the poles, mingle and acquire wads of cash.
I’m jealous and not a little angry, wondering why Killian won’t let me dance. I can teach and dance, too. If he didn’t think I was good enough, why would he have me teach? Infuriating mobster. He probably gets off on controlling people. Tellling people no.
That thought leads me down to the bar to order another Hurricane, which I sip as I walk around, keeping an eye on the guests, making sure they’re having a good time.
I’ve seen Killian a few times, always deep in conversation with someone, though as soon as I spot him, his eyes snap to me like he can feel my attention, like there’s an invisible thread between us. It’s unnerving.
The time flies by, the patrons get louder, drunker, more money flows. The guards watch the crowd closer, once in a while rescuing a dancer from a handsy client.
At one point, the biotech billionaire, Edward Glazer, corners me at the bar and gets a bit handsy himself.
I freeze for a moment. Then I see Killian stalking toward us, but I hold up a hand.
I need to handle this myself. I can’t freak out every time a man touches me.
The way I slapped Killian really startled me.
I successfully move his hand from my hip as I tell him his blonde companion could make trouble for me and get me fired if she gets jealous. Then I place the bourbon in it that Scarlett has left by my elbow. Smart woman. It’s done. He’s distracted and I slip away, only trembling a little.
But I look up to see Killian’s stock still, his eyes burning, still locked on Mr. Glazer. Geesh. He takes the no-touching-his-employees thing too damn seriously. His gaze sweeps over to me, his jaw muscles working.
“I’m fine,” I mouth.
But he doesn’t look appeased. Instead, he stalks over to one of his guards and pulls him aside.
I roll my eyes as I step into the elevator with my drink and smile at a middle-aged couple whose space I’m invading. I take the opportunity to introduce myself and ask if they need anything. They gush about how much fun they’re having and how Tampa needed new entertainment.
“I’ll be sure to pass that along to Mr. Donnelly,” I say, finding myself weirdly proud of Killian’s accomplishment here.