Cabin Fever

“I’ll talk to my boss about the time off. If I’m able, I’ll be ready at 7:00 a.m. Monday.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mr.—Joe. I promise you’re going to have a wonderful week in the Caribbean.”

Joe clicked off, ignored his buddies’ questions and stalked toward the chief’s office. A wonderful week? He seriously doubted that.

* * *

CARLY STOOD FUMING in Miami’s cruise terminal, slapping her clipboard against her linen skirt-covered thigh. For five long years she’d slaved away as a seamstress in the garment district learning everything she could about the fashion industry. Her interactive blog had only allowed her to quit her day job just last year. It was doing well, but this was her shot to hit the big time.

And the supermodel was late.

Unfortunately, she’d sent the same limo this morning to pick up her Average Joe. She’d had to scramble at the last minute to book them the next flight to Miami and hope they made that one. Then arrange for the Florida limo to return for them once they reached Miami International Airport.

After arriving at the cruise terminal, Carly had successfully directed the photographer and his crew, the hair and makeup teams, the Modiste liaison and the clothing handlers from the major department stores on Fifth Avenue onto the ship. All of the top stores had agreed, thanks to the editor at Modiste, to lend couture for the shoots. But the clothes would do no good if the ship took off without her models.

She pulled her cell out and called the limo service one more time. They’d already contacted the driver once and confirmed the limo was waiting for the plane to land. Piper—the supermodel with one name, had kept the limo waiting to take her to JFK airport for over three hours. She’d barely made the following flight out.

And if they didn’t get to the cruise terminal in the next thirty minutes, the ship would sail without them.

“Ms. Pendleton, the driver reported he’s five blocks from the pier.”

“Thank you!” She touched End Call on her screen, stuck her phone back in her jacket pocket, and ran as fast as her Louboutins would carry her to the terminal entrance.

Within a few minutes she saw the limo pull up and the driver get out and open the back door. Out stepped the most exotically beautiful woman Carly had ever seen. Straight black hair fell to her waist and her soft caramel complexion showed off luminous light green eyes that looked around her with distaste. The woman carried an enormous handbag and a tiny yappy dog.

Beside her was a shorter woman holding a diamond-studded leash. Piper’s assistant. Carly had spoken with her on the phone. She had the same exotic features as Piper. Beautiful, even with the left side of her face marred by a long, jagged scar.

When the assistant turned her left side away, Carly could’ve kicked herself for staring, and searched behind the two women for her Average Joe.

Where was he?

The driver was at the trunk unloading six, no, seven pieces of designer luggage. And helping him while they talked as if they’d been good friends for years was her contest winner.

Her breath caught as Joe smiled at something the driver said. Carly usually detested the scruffy, unshaved look that was popular right now, wishing she could take a razor to their jaw. But on her Average Joe, it worked, befitting his blue-collar status and accenting his white teeth.

“Hello?” The supermodel snapped her fingers in front of Carly’s face.

Annoyed at herself, Carly stepped forward and extended her right hand. “Piper, so nice to meet you.” The dog snapped at her fingers and Carly jerked her hand back just in time to prevent getting bit. The dog’s high-pitched yapping made her ears ring.

“Oh, poor Pootsie! You’ve upset him.” Piper’s low, smoky voice still managed to sound whiny, even with the British accent.

Carly bit the inside of her cheek and directed porters to rush the baggage to the ship and tipped them extra to make sure it got to the correct cabin.

Piper was still comforting her dog in a pouty baby language.

“I’m sorry. But if we don’t hurry, we won’t make it onto the ship.” Carly gestured toward the customs desk.

“Oh, but I have to say goodbye to my little Pootsie darling.” She held the dog up and nuzzled her face into the dog’s neck. “Bye-bye, baby,” she crooned. “Mommy has to go now. These mean ol’ cruise people won’t let me bring you. I’m going to miss you, yes I am.” She smooched on the dog a couple more times, and hugged it to her breasts.

“I’m sorry, Piper, but they still need to check your passport, and if we don’t hurry the ship will sail without us.”

The tall, slim model gave a disgusted huff, gently handed the yapping dog to the assistant and stalked away.

With a barely aborted eye roll, Carly turned to greet her Average Joe. She blinked at the impossibly sculpted chest and massive biceps outlined by a tight black T-shirt. Average? There was nothing average about this man. His entry photo should’ve prepared her. But a five-by-seven glossy was no match for the living, breathing man in front of her.

In her stocking feet she was five-nine. With her heels, she reached six feet. And she still had to look up to meet his gaze. Warm brown eyes and shaggy black hair and that scruffy beard. She detested facial hair on a man. But standing this close to all that heat and muscle brought out something in her so raw, so primal that she had to catch her breath.

He cleared his throat and hefted a duffel bag higher on his broad shoulder. “Hiya.”

“Mr. Te—Joe, I’m Carly Pendleton.” She offered her right hand and he grabbed it hard, as if he didn’t realize his own strength. “We spoke on the phone Saturday.”

He nodded, stilled, and frowned. “Pendleton?”

“Yes.” Resentment smoldered in her veins as it always did at this point in an introduction. “I’m his daughter. Does it matter?”

Holding on to her hand, his gaze scanned her body—down her legs and back up to meet her eyes. Then he flashed white teeth in a salacious smile. “Not a bit.”

The smile hit her like a gale-force wind. His palm was rough and hot. Yes, she’d been right about the heat.

Pushing away the thought, she dropped her hand and stepped back, half turning away from him. “If you’ll follow Piper to the customs desk, please?” She gestured toward the uniformed guards and the metal detector.

“Yes, ma’am.” As he moved past her, a subtle scent wafted by. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Mmm. She had a nose for colognes and his was not by any designer she recognized. The fragrance was something old-fashioned. Uniquely masculine. And incredibly attractive.

“You all right?”

Joe’s deep rumble startled her. Carly opened her eyes and met his gaze. He stared at her, the intensity in his dark brown eyes making her flinch. Her face warmed. Her throat tightened.

Great. Did she have no control over her body? She pasted on a smile and nodded. “Just dandy.” She brought her clipboard up and pretended to scrutinize page after page until Average Joe stepped up to hand his passport to the customs agent.

Dandy? She could kick herself. She’d graduated summa cum laude, for Pete’s sake. And all she could come up with was dandy? Geez. This was going to be a long five days.

2 (#ulink_2b358630-c301-5fe2-a1ff-d8b2838372a8)

“STOP RIGHT THERE.” Joe grabbed the wrist of the man trying to smear something on his eye.

The guy’s lips flattened. He shoved his free hand on his hip, threw his head back and called out, “Ms. Pendleton!” in a high voice.

Joe searched the crowded suite for his nemesis. The place was a circus this morning. Though he had to admit, the accommodations were nice. This suite was a mirror image of his.

Last night he’d slept better than he expected. The shower head was too low, but that was par for him. The king-size bed had been comfortable, there was a sofa and a table with seating for two and the cabin even had a balcony.

But he’d barely gotten himself a cup of coffee this morning before someone had knocked on his door to escort him here. He’d been dragged to a chair in front of a lighted mirror and a woman started trying to cut his hair.

There had to be at least a dozen people in this cabin. Still, he easily found Carly Pendleton. She was the type to stand out in a crowd. Tall and slim, but she had curves in all the right places. Her skirt and blouse hugged her figure as if they’d been made for her. Which, come to think of it, they probably had. And her long, thick brunette hair had not a strand out of place, even at seven in the morning.

But her best feature was her eyes. They were the color of arctic ice. A light blue so vivid they could capture a man’s gaze and freeze him where he stood, make him her prisoner until she deigned to set him free.

He shivered just thinking about being trapped in her frigid world. A man could get frostbite.