PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
MELISSA
The sexiest bikerI know is coming out of his stateroom across the hall.
Wade “Duck” Clifford is also the only biker I know, but I can’t imagine there are hotter ones out there. I don’t get to enjoy seeing him often, so I don’t waste the opportunity. As always, the man looks fine. But today, instead of the blue jeans and leather riding jacket I’ve become used to, he’s in a sharp suit, including a tie and matching pocket square. “Bond? James Bond?” I ask.
“Goddammit, Trouble, you just can’t help yourself, can you?” he replies. He doesn’t crack a smile, but I can hear one in his voice.
“No, I can’t. Especially after seeing you in that suit.”
I see him eyeing me in my shiny, pastel pink, floor-length gown with its puffy skirt and lace-up corset. I look like a prom queen. This time he smiles for real. “Nice dress. It looks familiar.”
“It should. I wore it at Josh and Joanie’s wedding.” Two decades ago. I’m both stunned and impressed that it still fits.
“It’s the same dress?”
I twist my hips to make the skirt swing like a bell. I know how far it’s fallen out of fashion. But what can I do? “The things we do for friends, right?”
“You look terrific. Pretty in pink.”
“Shut up, Wade.”
“Why are you the only person who doesn’t call me “Duck,” Melissa? It’s your fault that everybody else does.”
“Why would I, when I can drive you even more nuts by calling you by your name?” This is an old conversation. We laugh and I take the arm he offers. I’m a couple inches shorter than him in these heels. “Come on. We have time to stop at the bar on the way to dinner.”
“How many bars are there on this floating hotel?” he asks.
“I don’t know, but we should make it a point to find all of them.” We are aboard the Tropical Wave on a four-day, three-night cruise of the Caribbean to celebrate my best friend’s twentieth wedding anniversary. I was her maid of honor back in the day. Wade was the best man and a navy buddy of the groom. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to miss the pre-dinner cocktails.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Bob?”
I guess he hasn’t heard. It makes sense; we only see each other every five years or so at a Klein anniversary party. “Bob’s not here. He had a heart attack last summer.”
Wade freezes, but I give his arm a tug and steer him to the stairs leading to the Emerald Deck where the restaurants are. I always enjoy putting him on the spot, but when he so sincerely says, “I’m sorry, Mel,” I have to let him off the hook immediately.
“I’m not.” My expression must betray me because Wade’s face morphs from sympathetic to horrified to confused. “Bob isn’t dead. He had it when he was fucking one of my bosses at the restaurant. She called the ambulance for him,” I elaborate.
“This sounds like a tequila story,” he says.
“No, it’s a bubbles story.” I grin when his eyes widen in fear. “In fact, I think I need to drink away the memory. You’ll have a bottle of sparkling wine with me to celebrate taking that cheating asshole to the cleaners, won’t you, Wade?” I flutter my brown eyes at him, not even trying to hide my grin.
“Absolutely not. Let’s go, Trouble.”
The ink dried on my divorce decree six months ago. It was no consolation to know Bob’s affair wasn’t just a fling; I discovered Paula Pruden now Overbridge had an engagement ring on her finger the day he had me served with the papers. I got shitfaced with Joanie and wished the pair all the luck and happiness they deserved. Then I went no-contact and had my lawyer bleed him for all he was worth. I got everything I’d asked for.
Bob didn’t argue because he didn’t want me going public about Paula’s behavior. Not only had she slept with my husband, she’d then turned around and fired me over the other owners’ objections. I walked away and didn’t look back. I did hear that Bob had invested all the assets he had left into Paula’s share of the restaurant, making the two of them co-owners of twenty-five percent of Martinique.
Wade’s touch on my elbow brings me back to the present as he guides me into the late supper seating. The dining room is massive, filled with beautiful people making small talk with the strangers they’ll be eating with for the next three days. The carpeted floors absorb some of the noise from a hundred different conversations going on at the same time. The white tablecloths and white fabric chairs add an extra level of elegance that augments the massive crystal chandeliers overhead.
I spot Josh and Joanie and the rest of the wedding party just ahead of us when a man sitting at the table to my left calls my name. “Melissa?”
Wade stops when I do, then waves the waiter away since we’re practically at our destination. “Friend of yours?” he asks quietly.
“Business acquaintance,” I whisper back. “Marcus, what a surprise. How are you?”
