Page 45 of Filthy Rich

“Right,” I say, accepting the box and rolling my eyes as soon as I turn my back on her and set off. I don’t know why I bother trying to answer these questions of hers. As though she’s interested in having a real conversation about my life when she’s got the attention span of a hummingbird. Even so, I’m touched that she remembered to ask about my day and that I was left out of her VIP tour extravaganza.

“Here are your meds,” I say, handing them to her when I return from my cabin, where I took a discreet glance at my watch. Ten fifteen. Not that I’m counting the seconds or anything. “We already checked your blood sugar and blood pressure. You’ve got a fresh pitcher of water by the bed. Anything else I can do for you before I turn in?”

She’s been plucking a few chin hairs with her tiny gold tweezers, but now she twists at the waist to give me a sharp look. “What’s your hurry? Big date?”

And she laughs at her own joke. I guess the idea that I could possibly have a date is pretty funny. Hell, I can’t believe it myself. “Nope,” I say tightly. “Just tired.”

“Well, go on to bed, then,” she says, with a hand flap to shoo me on my way as she reaches for her water glass and takes her pills. “It’s a sad state of affairs when the old folks like me have more energy than you young folks, I’ll tell you that. Good night, honey.”

“Good night, Mrs. Hooper.”

I duck into my cabin again, shutting the door behind me and putting some serious pep in my step. I’m already late, but I feel a little grimy after sightseeing all day. And other delicious activities. So I hop into the shower and set a new personal record for speedy cleanliness. Then I throw on another one of Mrs. Hooper’s Hermes scarves as a sarong, add my little strappy sandals and top it all off with a liberal spritz of my new perfume. Then I grab my phone, turn off the lights and tiptoe out my door to the hallway, silent as a jewel thief at one of Monte Carlo’s high-end stores.

“You’re late,” comes a quiet voice as Lucien falls into step beside me. “I’m starving.”

“Oh my God,” I say, jumping out of my skin and rubbing my thumping heart. “Where did you come from?”

“My cabin. Where else?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Hadn’t decided,” he says wryly, shoving his hands into his pockets as his long strides make it impossible for me to keep up with him. “I was either going to spend the night in your cabin and pray that the two of us could be quiet enough not to wake up Mrs. Hooper or pull the fire alarm. One or the other.”

“Will you wait?” I say, grabbing his arm and struggling to keep up with him. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

He stops dead and stares me down.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on you again. I told you not to keep me waiting.”

The words and his obvious impatience thrill me. I try not to reveal how much.

“You’ll have to forgive me.” My voice sounds a little throaty now. “I’m a very important nurse trying to keep my elderly patient alive.”

There’s that wry smile again.

“The thing you fail to realize, Ms. Scott,” he says, leaning in to scrape my neck with his teeth and making me moan, “is that I also need your tender care these days. I feel like I’m dying without it.”

“You don’t mean that,” I say, now feeling heavy-lidded, breathless and spellbound.

“I assure you, I do. Let’s go.” He takes my hand, and we set off again. “Hang on,” he says before we’ve gotten very far. “Where’s your bag?”

I glance down at my hand, which is holding only my phone. “What bag?”

“Your bag. Purse. Overnight bag. Whatever you want to call it. With your toothbrush and whatever else you’ll need. I mentioned you’d be staying the night. Don’t act like you forgot.”

I hesitate, thinking hard. Part of me wants to argue with him, but that seems childish. And I’m not sure why I’m resisting in the first place. As though there’s some other place in the entire world I’d rather be overnight than with him. Please. Still, something about his absolute arrogance when he pronounces these things sets me off.

I know it’s ridiculous, facing off with him like this in the ship’s corridor. Especially when an elderly couple passes with curious looks just as I put my hands on my hips and hike up my chin while he stares coolly down his nose at me. There’s something so surreal about the encounter, as though I’ve woken up one random day and found myself battling Zeus. I know he’s bigger, stronger, older, wiser, richer and generally cooler than I am. And that he’ll win in the end. But I can’t just let him plow all over me. He’ll never respect me if I do.

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

A shrug. “I’ll hear you out. Then I plan to overrule you.”

At this point, I just want to smack him.

I take a step closer, hot blood rushing to my cheeks. “I have responsibilities. What if Mrs. Hooper needs something during the night?”

He gives me one of those one-sided grins of his, utter disbelief tinged with rising irritation. “I’m betting you have one of those baby-monitoring apps on your phone for Mrs. Hooper. And you’ll get an alert if she or the dog so much as snores too loud. Am I right?”

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