LaClaire Nights: An After Hours Novel Page 2

  “We need to talk, but not now.” He zips up his pants. “I need a drink first and some fresh air.” Without waiting for me to recover from the shock brought on by his words, he turns his back to me and strides toward the door. A moment later, the door closes with a sigh behind him. He leaves me alone with tears rolling down my cheeks, to figure out what his words meant and what tonight means for our ten-hour-old marriage.

  1

  Grace

  With a red ballpoint pen, I encircle today’s date on my wall calendar. June 25th, 2015, is the day I try to leave the past behind and start again.

  I never thought I’d be here, divorced and on a cruise ship alone, about to sail into what I hope to be a new life.

  Three months ago, on my wedding night, Dustin had returned to our room, and we’d talked about ending our marriage. He’d told me point blank sex is important to him and he wants to be married to someone who is sexually compatible with him from the start and I wasn’t that person. It hurt like hell to hear the words, but I didn’t try to talk him out of wanting out.

  I’d waited twenty-six years to lose my virginity to a man, who pretty much told me I’m not worth as much as I thought, sending my self-esteem plummeting.

  Now here I am, riding the ocean waves to the Caribbean. Not a bad place to run away to, I suppose. If only the waters could wash away the shame of being rejected on my first night as a married woman, the disappointment of getting married only to get divorced before the ink dried. Moving back into my mother’s home had been hell, with her making it clear she thinks I’m to blame for the breakup of my marriage. According to her, I married a good man and threw it all away. Having given up my apartment before the wedding, I needed a place to stay until I could think of the next steps.

  The worst were the looks I got around town, the whispers which followed me for weeks. My broken marriage was the highlight in Cottonwood, Arizona. Oh, the joys of living in a small town.

  But what hurt the most was that my friends and neighbors, people I’d known my entire life, turned their backs on me as though I carried some kind of illness. Perhaps bad luck is my sickness and they didn’t want to catch it. But I did my best to keep my head held high.

  At The Lily, the spa where I worked as a massage therapist, I took on the clients who wanted to work with me and ignored the rest. Thankfully, my boss, Lily Summers, had not been one of the people who shunned me. But I could no longer stand living in a town that had once been my safe haven only to turn claustrophobic overnight.

  The funny thing is, not long after we signed the divorce papers, Dustin started contacting me constantly. The few times I answered his calls or bumped into him in town, he made pathetic attempts to apologize, to assure me that even though our marriage failed, he still wanted me in his life as a friend. I told him I wanted nothing more to do with him. He had humiliated me enough, and not only on our wedding night.

  As though making up for lost time, before the divorce was even finalized, he’d been sleeping with random women. Word gets around in a small town. What in the hell would we be talking about as friends? Would we share a drink and laugh about our failed marriage, talk about the women he took to bed and how good they were?

  Forget it. I made it clear I wanted to move on with my life and he should do the same. But I got tired of being in the same town as him, bumping into him at church, the grocery store or the post office. I came to a point where I could no longer breathe in Cottonwood. I needed to get away, to find myself again. Or a different version of myself, since I’m not the same woman that had married Dustin. But I didn’t have the money that would allow me to get far enough from home.

  Then I came across a job advertisement in the local paper.

  The LaClaire Cruises were new to me, but they were in need of a massage therapist. I decided I wanted the position, a job that would take me away from my misery for a while. In spite of the fact that I didn’t have all the required qualifications, I applied anyway. What did I have to lose? Two weeks later, I was interviewed for a job I never thought would be mine. I was hired on the spot.

  Now here I am, far from my troubles.

  I turn away from the calendar and push open the balcony door. The whisper of the sea breeze, the whooshing sound of the ship moving through the water, and the squawking of seagulls make my heart beat faster with hunger for an adventure. The salty ocean air attached to the suntan lotion I’d rubbed on my arms before boarding the ship fills my lungs with the promise that everything will be fine.

  My cabin may be smaller than the spacious rooms reserved for the wealthy guests, but the ocean view through the windows is breathtaking. That’s all I want to see for the next six weeks. This is exactly the space I need to clear my head. I have no idea what I will do once the cruise is over, but I’ll figure it out later. This is my time to live in the moment, to nurse my wounds in peace, and rebuild my shattered self-esteem.

  I sink onto the bed and run my splayed fingers along the bed sheets. I have to hold back a purr as my palms glide easily along the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets. Looks like someone made sure no one on this ship goes without quality sleep, be it guests or staff. Smiling, I press my cheek against the sheets. Quality sleep and a taste of luxury happens to be exactly what my soul needs.

  The staff rooms may be small, but all the amenities are of five-star quality. This cabin is more luxurious than the honeymoon suite at the Onyx Hotel & Spa.

  Picture frame windows, plush carpeting running the entire length of the cabin, the marble bathroom with the largest showerhead I’ve ever seen, embroidered towels hanging from golden hooks, complimentary Wi-Fi, the small plasma screen TV. I’m well aware this taste of luxury is nothing compared to what 150 guests get to enjoy on board, but to me, this feels like a honeymoon after divorce.

  Divorce. The word is like a bitter pill on the tip of my tongue. A pill I’ve been forced to swallow. A word that will follow me for the rest of my life. I might as well come to terms with being a divorcee.

  I’m living proof that even the best-laid plans can go horribly wrong. But that’s fine. There’s no use looking back now, no use regretting anything. I’m here to forget for a while. Forgetting starts now. Instead of lying there ruminating, I need to do something to occupy my mind.

  I slide off the bed and fling open my suitcase, digging inside for my workout clothes. Time to get my blood pumping. The unpacking can wait. Besides, it won’t be a bad idea to spend time around other people to keep my mind occupied so sadness doesn’t darken it. What a waste it would be to be sad on a luxury ship like the LaClaire.

  Going to the gym might also be the perfect way to meet my new crew mates and make new friends before work starts.

  Friends. I didn’t have many friends growing up. The few I had didn’t blink an eye before abandoning me the moment I became a divorced woman. Like everyone else, they accepted the rumors as fact without hearing my side of the story. And since I never refuted the rumors, I became guilty in everyone’s eyes. Word around was that Dustin had told everyone that the reason we divorced was because I didn’t want kids and he so much wanted to be a father. If only they knew the real truth. I could’ve told them, of course, but my private life is none of their business. They can continue running their mouths while I have the time of my life.

  Giving the people I left behind no further thought, I slip into my clothes and grab my yoga mat.

  With the help of the map I was given when I boarded the ship, I make my way through the hallways. The gentle rocking of the ship will take some getting used to but I don’t mind it too much. I’ll embrace anything new at this point.

  It takes me ten minutes to find the staff gym. Using both palms of my hands, I shove open the double doors. The floor-length windows flood the room with crisp, natural white light which reflects off the mirrored walls. The room is empty except for one other person and the dying smell of deodorant and pine tree cleaner.

  Where’s everyone? My glance turns to the black and gold designer c
lock on a far wall.

  Six in the evening. It’s dinner time on the LaClaire. No wonder the room is empty.

  My colleagues might have chosen to get to know each other over a meal instead of while sweating on a treadmill. Should I go and do the same? But I have absolutely no appetite whatsoever. My belly is too unsettled to keep any food down. When hunger strikes, I’ll grab something from one of the many vending machines.

  Being in the gym with few people present might be a good thing. Yoga in a crowded room wouldn’t be as calming to my mind. I’d be too distracted.

  As I lay my yoga mat on a spot on the floor, my gaze returns to the guy lifting weights by the power lifting station.

  A tingling sensation trails down my spine. How did I not notice immediately how sexy he is?

  Stop it, you are staring.

  I want to listen to the voice inside my head, but my eyes refuse to obey the command. My gaze takes in his broad, athletic body, the contraction and release of his tanned muscles as he lifts the weights. He’s tall, much taller than Dustin for sure. If he came to stand next to me, he’d be towering over me.

  He peers at me through the locks of shaggy chestnut hair that hangs a little over his moss green eyes. Our eyes lock in the mirror and my heart takes a break from beating. A hot and cold sensation washes over me. The longer I watch him, the more I notice a strange feeling unfurling in the pit of my stomach. Butterflies?

  I’m about to look away when his lips curl in a crooked smile that brings a dimple to his left cheek.

  I release the breath I’ve been holding and look away, hurrying toward the place where yoga mats are stacked up against a wall. I wonder if he’s watching me, but I don’t look back. I wouldn’t want to look like an infatuated teenager.

  He must get several women fawning over him all the time. And the way he’d smiled at me, he doesn’t seem to mind the attention.

  I place my mat on the floor and sink down onto it in a way that ensures I’m turned away from him. No more staring allowed, even if I’m dying to take one more peek. I’m here for one reason and one reason only, to heal and recover from the damage to my self-esteem.

  The man with the weights is the kind of man I ran away from for twenty-six years, the kind that’s dangerous to a fragile heart like mine. He’s also way out of my league. A guy like him would never date a girl like me. Not that I’m not attractive. But I’ll be first to admit I’m not the kind of girl that stops traffic. I’ve been told I have beautiful blonde hair and striking brown eyes, but I’ve never paid much attention to my looks.

  I draw in several deep, cleansing breaths, willing my heart to settle. The Lotus Pose I settle into doesn’t bring me the calm I need. The room still feels hot and cold and the butterflies are flapping like crazy inside my belly. The stranger is a few feet away but the way I’m feeling he could have been standing right next to me. His energy from across the room makes my entire body vibrate.

  The room is full of him.

  Something about him makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Strange unwelcome sensations. His mere presence affects me. So, this is what they call instant attraction? Dustin had never made me feel like this, never left me flustered the way this stranger does without even touching me.

  I lose the fight of self-control and steal another glimpse at him. My heart is thudding and my palms are sleek with sweat. I find him watching me still, his eyes narrowed in an intense gaze that seems to reach deep into my soul. I could be imagining it, but my entire body tells me something about me fascinates him. He’s looking at me in a way that makes me tingle between my legs. He’s touching me with his eyes.

  Does he like me?

  Even as the alarm bells inside my head go off, a pleasant warmth floods my body at the idea a gorgeous man like him could be even remotely interested in me.

  What’s wrong with you? That man is a total stranger.

  I bite my lip, pissed for allowing myself to be affected by somebody I haven’t even talked to. And why does it even matter what he does or doesn’t think of me? I’ve just come out of a marriage where I was considered a failure in bed.

  No, I scold myself, squaring my shoulders. I turn away from him, close my eyes, and force myself to get into the zone. It’s the only way to shut out the stranger. Maybe when I reopen my eyes he’ll be gone.

  “Hi there.” A voice rumbles through the silence and my eyes fly open in response. “I’m Bryant. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  I frown in his direction. Is he really talking to me?

  Before I can recover from the shock of being talked to, he puts down his weights and approaches me. The closer he gets the more my heart expands with both anxiety and excitement.

  “I figured since we’re the only people in here we should at least exchange a word or two.” He stretches out a hand. “Hi, stranger.”

  “Erm . . . Hi—” I swallow through my parched throat. “Nice—nice to meet you.”

  He engulfs my small hand with his large one. The moment our skins touch, a strong, dizzying current spirals through my body. I squeeze his hand and pull back before he notices my hand is shaking.

  “How about you?” He smirks, unveiling perfect white teeth. “Did your parents happen to give you a name?”

  “Yeah.” A giggle escapes my lips. “Grace, Grace Anderson.” Not Grace Cardwell as I thought I’d be by this time.

  “Grace.” My name rolls off his tongue like warm honey. “I was right. You seemed like someone who would have a beautiful name.”

  I bite down on my lip, unsure of how to respond. Surely he can’t be flirting with me?

  “Well, Grace, now that we’re no longer strangers in a gym, I’ll leave you to your yoga.” He takes a few strides back to his weights.

  “Thanks.” Barely able to feel my legs, I sink back down onto my mat and resume my earlier pose.

  We carry on with our individual activities but from behind my closed lids, I feel him watching me. There’s no way I’d be able to focus with him around.

  I’m left with two options, I could pack up my things and get out of this dangerous, unfamiliar environment, or I could remain sitting and allow my mind the freedom to go wild, to venture into forbidden territory.

  All my life I’ve been accompanied by warnings. What good did they do me? Nothing. Maybe it’s time I try something new, permit myself to be swept away by my emotions for once.

  I remain in the yoga pose, feigning deep concentration. I don’t open my eyes, don’t flirt with Bryant, but I think of him behind my eyelids. I allow his green eyes beneath thick lashes to hypnotize me. I imagine myself dipping the tip of my tongue into his dimple. Thank God for secret thoughts. As long as no one sees the pictures inside my mind, I’m safe.

  I hear my mother’s voice telling me it’s a sin to think these thoughts about a man I’m not married to. But right now, I just don’t care.

  2

  Bryant

  I dare to think I’m good at guessing what women think. The moment my eyes landed on Grace Anderson I knew she was attracted to me. I saw it from the way her Bambi eyes widened, her plum lips parted as though to let out a sigh. I saw it in the way she moved. I also knew instantly that she’s one of those insecure women with no freaking idea how gorgeous they are. I have to say, that turns me on. Nothing is more thrilling than helping hidden beauties peel back the layers to reveal gold beneath.

  She means for those baggy clothes to hide her curves, but I see them just fine, baby. Her yoga poses give me a glimpse of enough firm ass and round breasts to know she’s hiding something exquisite.

  I lean back against the wall and watch her until she reopens her eyes. I continue our conversation.

  “I’m assuming you work here?” I quirk an eyebrow and inject just enough lust in my tone, enough for her to understand my dirty intentions but not to scare her away. She only needs to trust me enough to allow me access into her panties.

  I shift as my dick hardens at the thought of what she’s hiding und
er the layers of unflattering workout clothing.

  Most women I’ve fucked were easy. But I get the inkling this one is different. My mind is warning me to be cautious. She’s the kind that needs kid gloves. But experience has taught me it’s the shy ones who, once unleashed, are insatiable. I have the feeling she’s one of a kind—the kind worth the effort.

  The one thing many men get wrong is thinking there’s a ‘one size fits all’ strategy to getting into a girl’s panties. I know better and I get rewarded, more often than not, with them riding my cock so hard you’d think it’s their only mission in life.

  “I do.” Her voice is soft, cautious. She’s questioning my intentions. She unknowingly bats those big brown eyes. My balls strain almost to the point of pain. Does she see the bulge in my shorts? She can’t, because her eyes are searching mine. I settle on a wooden bench, legs wide apart. I’ve got nothing to hide.

  If she decides to take her gaze down south, I won’t try to conceal the proof of what she’s doing to me. The woman is clearly in desperate need of a dose of confidence. Seeing her effect on me might do the trick and speed up the process from flirting to fucking.

  She moistens her lip. “Where on the ship do you work?”

  She has no idea who I am. How would she? When I introduced myself earlier, I’d left my surname out intentionally. There’s no need for her to know, yet, that I’m Bryant LaClaire, the owner of the ship and one of the heirs to a multi-billion dollar inheritance. When I’m interested in a woman, I prefer to leave the billions out of the equation early on. I’ve had chicks fuck me for my money. That pisses me off. My bank accounts may be loaded but I hate when my skills in the bedroom are overshadowed by dollar bills.

  Some years ago, I was just another rich kid, but the death of my parents in a plane crash ten years ago had shifted things inside me. They left a hole inside my heart so big not even the cash they left behind could fill it completely. Sure, my brothers and I can live the dream, pursue our individual business ventures with no hindrance, but even success in business is not enough for me. Lots of sex brings me closer to feeling whole, but only until the sexual drug wears off.