Buying Trouble

“Give another sexy little spin for the ladies, Antonio,” the charity bachelor auction hostess prodded. “Tease them. Tempt them. Get those bids up.”

Miranda McGuire sipped on her third Sex-on-the-Beach and attempted to pretend she wasn’t here. It was impossible to do with the loud din of crazed, beyond tipsy, and, okay, horny women around her. Over 1,200 of them. Seated near the front of the elegant, rooftop ballroom of the InterContinental Hotel on the Plaza she’d had a good view all night of the deteriorating condition of all these women. They’d gone from strolling in wearing designer gowns and posturing for the attention of the news media in attendance to going ga-ga over one seriously handsome man presented after another. The abundance of expensive wines and alcohol of all types that quickly refilled even half-empty glasses had added to the decline of their touch with reality, their falling to this lowness in decorum. This was so not her kind of event.

“Come on, Antonio, just one more spin for us,” said Alexandra Tilton walking onto the side of the stage when he’d evidently not cooperated with the hostess’ request.

Miranda glanced toward the tall woman who made you think of a blond Silver Screen star—only more sophisticated, more confident. The current chairman of the board of Dreamscape Cruise Lines had shown up halfway through the auction, stopping everything with her unexpected arrival. The press had immediately shifted their attention to her until she’d allowed them one final photo and in her husky, Southern voice encouraged them to focus once more on the auction. “After all, this evening is about raising funds for the Homeless Children in Need Foundation here in Kansas City. I’m of little importance. Merely a late-arriving guest,” she’d said.

The woman “of little importance” walked closer to Mancini and he seemed to heave a resigned sigh. He did a slow, model’s turn, which showed off some of his finer points. Great ass, long legs, very nice breadth of shoulders. The crowd clearly approved and ratcheted up to a whole new level of craziness. Ear-splitting whistles joined with cheers and Miranda almost ran fleeing for her life from the room. Almost. She couldn’t leave. She’d had a long week and hadn’t wanted to take this assignment. Buying a bachelor and a winning a weeklong cruise with him wasn’t what she wanted to do. It was what she’d been ordered to do.

Forcing herself to remain in her chair instead of fleeing like she wanted to do, she slipped off the killer stilettos and wiggled her toes. Ahhh. Her feet were killing her. Almost over. Thank God, this torture is almost over. She could make it a little longer. She could do her job.

The two other women at her table bounded to their feet—again—and bounced up and down, breasts bobbing like buoys in stormy water. They waved madly in an attempt to gain this bachelor’s attention. They’d reacted much the same way as each of the hot, wealthy single men who were donating their time to one of the cruise lines’ nationwide charity bachelor auctions stepped onto the stage. Miranda’s interest in the event was totally different from theirs. Not that she didn’t appreciate the fine eye candy presented tonight, because she certainly did. But the IRS was investigating these auctions that were supposed to raise large sums of money for the favorite charities of the various cities hosting the auctions. Paper trails hadn’t shown those sums of money actually going to the charities. As a Special Agent for the IRS with several years of experience investigating some very complicated cases, she’d earned the right to go undercover on this one. At least that was according to her boss. She saw it more as having drawn the short straw in the Kansas City office.

“Antonio Mancini’s quite a catch, ladies, don’t you think?” Alexandra Tilton moved next to him and patted his arm, smiling. “Over six feet of pure Italian stud.”

Miranda glanced up in time to see Mr. Italian Stud frown at the label. She thought the verbal shoe fit nicely. Olive-skinned, carefully styled thick dark hair, aristocratic nose, neatly trimmed mustache, beard and sideburns, and what she thought from this distance were blue eyes. One thing she noted clearly was his God-let-me-out-of-here-soon expression. Which made her wonder why he’d volunteered to be part of this event. Maybe he’d gotten roped into it like she had. More likely, since he was of the heavily moneyed group, some personal advisor had told him it would be terrific PR to step up and offer himself this way. Whatever. His problem. Still, he wasn’t hard on the eyes in those tailored black slacks and white dress shirt. And she admired his attempt at rebellion—even if he was here when she didn’t think he wanted to be. The other eleven men wore tuxes, expensive ones. He hadn’t bothered. He looked a hundred times sexier than any of the others. From the continued roar of cheering and catcalling, the ladies appeared to appreciate his manly assets above any of the others. But he wasn’t for her, not at all.

So how come your pulse is racing? So why do you wish his clothes would suddenly disappear? She forced the uncomfortable thoughts aside. Think business. Do your job.

“This is the big one, ladies. Win Hunk No. 12 and you win a dream cruise of eight days in the Caribbean on Dreamweaver, Dreamscape Cruise Lines’ most popular ship,” the hostess said and smiled at Mancini.

He forced a returning smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

The hostess ignored his tolerant reaction and his apparent lack of enthusiasm. “How about we start with $5,000?”

“Ten thousand!” a particularly high-pitched woman yelled from the back of the room.

“Fifteen!”

“Sixteen!”

“Twenty!”

The thousands were flying rapidly around the ballroom. Miranda slipped her shoes back on, drew in a steadying breath, and stood. She hadn’t bid on any of the men yet tonight, having known this was the only one who mattered. Or at least winning him and the cruise were what mattered. She hadn’t imagined the bidding would get this high, but, to her absolute surprise, she had almost a blank check to offer. And she had to win him.

“Fifty thousand dollars,” she said, her knees feeling weak at the staggering amount.

Both the hostess and Alexandra beamed at the bid. Mancini found her in the sea of women and his brow furrowed in curiosity. She raised her chin and waited for additional bids.

“Fifty-five.”

“Sixty.” After that bid several long seconds passed. The bidding had gone too high.

“Seventy,” Miranda hopefully made her final bid. Please let that be enough. Please let that be enough.

She felt everyone staring at her, especially the women at her table. Some looked happy for her. Some looked angry. All she could think, though, was Now what? What am I going to do with him? One thing for absolute sure, she would not be joining him in bed. No way. No how. She was not interested!

A tiny smile flirted with the corner of his mouth. Sexy. Sinfully sexy.

Okay maybe she was a teeny, tiny bit interested. There was something about … She kind of liked… No! She had a job to do that was all. Winning him and the cruise were merely a means to an end. He was not important in the equation. Only the cruise.

*********

Tony had done his best to tolerate the sea of drunk, overly flirtatious women practically drooling over the twelve men—him included—offered up as a prize in this charity auction. The whole idea rubbed him wrong. He hated being here, hated feeling like each and every one of the thousand-plus women were seeing him stripped down to bare skin. He would never look at another Playboy or another such magazine in the same way again. He felt dirty.

Only moments ago he had stood backstage, sweating his turn to strut and pose. Damn but this was degrading, even if it was all supposedly for the benefit of a charity. Supposedly being the key word. He’d heard through the alphabet grapevines that the IRS was investigating the cruise line. The details hadn’t made it his way. Not that their investigation mattered much to him. His investigation—actually the FBI’s investigation—was what mattered. Cruise ship crime had become an increasingly bigger problem every year.

He barely listened to the bidding, more tuned into watching Tilton and the way she played the audience. He’d heard that the IRS was particularly interested in her, even more than the rest of the board also under investigation. It was rumored that she would be going on the cruise leaving from Ft. Lauderdale on May 1, meeting several of the board members in La Romana, Dominican Republic. Again, their problem. His problem, as a new member of the FBI’s specialized Cruise Ship Crime Unit, was the ship itself. He had just started with the unit yesterday in the D.C. office. Right after the initial welcome-aboard speech his new boss had handed him an airline ticket, told him to pack for at least a couple of weeks, told him to take cruise ship clothes, and he’d taken the red-eye to Kansas City last night. Someone higher up had managed to get the auction rigged so that the Bureau’s undercover contestant would win the cruise. They wanted it bad. They wanted an up-close-and-personal investigation of the Dreamweaver to start as quickly as possible.

Fifty thousand dollars! He focused on the leggy caramel-blond who had barely even glanced at the stage until now. Odd. Very odd that suddenly she was on her feet with the two women at her table who had been whistling and flirting big time all night long. Oh, yes, he’d seen them and been thankful neither of them was bidding. She’d appeared more bored than interested in the auction. Until now. Until him. Odd.

Sixty thousand! Were these people crazy? He tried not to cringe at the redhead in a skin-tight red dress who’d made the bid. The look she gave him… The way she was licking her lips and staring at his crotch—and he was certain that’s where she was focused. He fought the urge to cover himself. Please, God, not her. Please let someone else bid.

“Seventy thousand dollars!” said the caramel-blond in a plain black cocktail dress that gently skimmed a perfect body.

He felt sweat pooling on his back. No further bids. He thanked his lucky star that the redhead had given up. But the blond… He wasn’t quite sure how to read her. Her expression didn’t show all that much interest in him. Odd. He wasn’t Hollywood star handsome, but he wasn’t a slug either. Her cool look stung his pride a little. What did it matter anyway? The highest bidder was supposed to win a dream date with a wealthy bachelor, not so much true in this case. His orders were to at least provide some of the winner’s expectations while doing his job. He’d give it his best shot, but he wasn’t going for eight days of partying, playing, and hot sex. Another glance at the blond and his body told him sex with her shouldn’t be entirely ruled out.

Alexandra Tilton said, “It appears that we have a winner.”

The “winner” looked more resigned than thrilled. Something was off here. Maybe she only wanted the cruise and to get away for a few days. Maybe he was a piece of the prize that she wasn’t at all interested in. He gave her a thin smile while he wondered about her. At least it appeared that he wouldn’t have to fight off her amorous attentions every minute of the trip. Why was that disappointing? It shouldn’t be. It would make his life and job much, much simpler.

“Come on up here and meet Mr. Mancini.” Alexandra Tilton motioned the winner to the stage. The blond didn’t move. “Don’t be shy. You paid a considerable amount for the pleasure of spending eight days on the Dreamweaver with him.” She glanced back at Tony and nodded. “Pleasure. I’m certain the cruise will indeed be quite pleasurable. Right, Antonio?”

“Right,” he answered and heard the room erupt in wild cheering. His heart pounded. Could any man live up to the expectations she’d hinted at? Did he care? No. He really wasn’t here to impress anyone. Certainly not the beautiful blond who didn’t seem at all impressed with him. To play the crowd, he lowered his voice and ratcheted up the husky tone, “I’m positive we will both enjoy a week in paradise.” For good measure and to maybe annoy the blond, he winked at her.

As he’d expected, the audience hooted and hollered in enthusiastic appreciation of his unspoken-but-hinted-at idea of a week of hot, steamy days and nights. He focused on his “winner” and she appeared wide-eyed and shocked. Why she looked that way puzzled him. After all, the promoted idea behind this bachelor auction was how some lucky woman would not only win a Caribbean cruise but also win time with a sexy, wealthy bachelor.

The two women at her table gave her a puzzled look when she didn’t race toward the stage. That got her moving. She headed in his direction and he couldn’t help noticing the way that no-frills black dress enhanced a body that made his pulse beat faster. Her hair swayed around slender shoulders. Her faded blue eyes slightly tipped up at the corners met his. Then he noticed her lips, full Angelina Jolie lips. He fought back a groan. He wanted to kiss them, badly…which really irritated him. This is business. Only business. And she doesn’t even like you, idiot.

The room had grown quieter in expectation. Alexandra’s expression mirrored it. Was she mentally rubbing her hands in delight at the nearly half a million dollars brought in tonight? That was an issue for the IRS, not him. He just wanted to, as they say, get the show on the road. He wanted to meet his “date” and make the arrangements for leaving on the cruise in three days.

*********

Miranda walked slowly up the steps leading to the raised stage. This whole thing was so weird. She’d basically bought a man for a play toy. No! She had not. She was contributing—okay, the IRS was contributing—to a charity. She was only going on the cruise to do her job, to watch Alexandra Tilton, to observe that board meeting if at all possible. She was not going for enjoyment, not going to spend pleasurable days and hot, steamy nights with Mr. Italian Stud. Darn it.

With each step she took she wanted to run in the other direction. How could she do this? How could she agree to go on a cruise with a complete stranger and share a suite with him? The big man had that “experienced” air about him. He looked like a man who knew his way around the bedroom and a woman’s body. Yummy too. He definitely looked yummy. Stop thinking that way! Focus! This is not about finding satisfaction in anything more than doing your job.

As she stopped next to Alexandra and the hostess, Alexandra asked, “What do you think? Will the handsome Antonio Mancini make an agreeable companion for eight days in Caribbean paradise?”

The room was quieting down; the women were listening, waiting for her to finally bubble over with excitement. She’d disappointed everyone so far. It was time to draw on her former years of acting in high school plays. Give them what they wanted. Give them a convincing act.

“Shall we find out just how ‘agreeable’ Mr. Mancini is?” She eased by the two women and stopped right in his personal space. She could smell his cologne—something wildly sexy, irresistible. She saw surprise widen his warm blue eyes. Her heart pounded as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. Then she went up on tiptoe and kissed him.

He hesitated for a mere instant and then he returned the kiss, pulling her tight against him. Good Lord, but the man could kiss! Her knees went weak. The crowd went crazy around them. The other bachelors and their “dates” joined them onstage and Miranda barely noticed them. Her entire world seemed to be focused on the feel of Mancini’s warm lips against hers.

“Evidently Mr. Mancini is indeed ‘agreeable.’” Alexandra dared to interrupt their kiss, sounding amused.

Miranda felt her face heat and Mancini released her, appearing as surprised as she’d been. She stepped to his side, considered running away, but he latched onto her wrist and held her there. He looked down into her eyes and said, “I believe we’ll get along nicely.”

*********

“He said what?” Miranda’s boss, Pete Turner, asked later that evening when he called her for an update.

Miranda looked out the window of her living room from her high-rise apartment in Kansas City’s Country Club Plaza. The lights twinkled all over the Plaza. On the warm April night people strolled the sidewalks going to restaurants and bars, stopping to look at fountains or statues. Joggers ran along the river’s side. She loved living here and could only afford to live here because she’d inherited the condo apartment and enough money to support the lifestyle that went with it. Her salary with the IRS sure wouldn’t pay for this. Still, she liked her job.

She frowned, thinking that her job had taken her down a strange path this time. Not the investigation, but the situation. The situation involving the cruise and having to battle an unwanted attraction to Antonio Mancini. “He all but set me on fire with that kiss and then he casually said we’d ‘get along nicely.’” Why had she admitted about the fire?

“Kissed you?” Pete barked. “Why the hell did you let the man kiss you?”

“Actually I kissed him. He just returned the kiss. Big time.” Even now she felt the surprising softness of his mustache and beard against her lips. Felt the way his heart had pounded against her chest. Felt the stirrings of his arousal. He’d been as into the kiss as she had. “This could be trickier than I thought.” And that could prove to be a huge understatement.

“You’re not supposed to be getting involved in any way with this guy. You’ve got a job to do, McGuire.” He didn’t sound at all pleased, almost jealous. But then over the last year he’d dropped hints that he wouldn’t mind asking her out, except he couldn’t. He was her superior. Not that she was interested in him that way.

She looked down at the couples strolling hand-in-hand and experienced a familiar ache in her chest. For years she’d told herself that she was not interested in marriage, not even in a serious relationship. Her work was enough. Besides that, she’d witnessed her parents’ bitter divorce that had followed years of emotional abuse on both sides. In truth, she was afraid to take a chance at loving someone, at being hurt.

“I’m not going to get involved with Mancini.” She turned away from the view, feeling confident in her abilities as an investigator. She could definitely do her job. “We’re supposed to have a royal suite with a bedroom and a living room with a sofa bed. Mancini will be using the sofa bed.”

Pete snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Miranda bristled. “He will.” Probably. No! Definitely.

“I really don’t want to know the sleeping arrangements. Or anything that might develop personally between you, which I hope doesn’t. I just want you to do your damn job.”

She could be irritated, too. “I wasn’t the one who sent me on this particular assignment. I’m not the one who got me into this bizarre situation.” She blew out a breath to steady her nerves. “I’ll do the damn job, a job which was supposed to begin in three days with the sailing from Ft. Lauderdale. Evidently our torturous time together begins tomorrow night when we fly there for two additional days of publicity stuff.” Something that she dreaded but could handle.

He grumbled under his breath. “Get what we need, McGuire. Concentrate on the job and get something concrete to help us tie up this case.”

*********

Tony pointed the remote at the flat screen TV in his hotel room and channel surfed looking for a baseball game. He had tried sitting in the sports bar downstairs, but had been too wired to sit there. He’d been on edge ever since leaving the bachelor auction. Okay, he’d been on edge ever since he’d kissed Miranda McGuire. The woman had surprised him, pleasantly surprised him. Her lips had been soft, pliable. And she’d smelled good, wearing a scent that had remained in his memory ever since. Within seconds, he’d felt powerful stirrings of arousal. He was in trouble on this assignment and he didn’t like it.

His cell phone rang and he grabbed it from the nightstand. “Mancini.”

“Did everything go according to plan?” asked Barry Harbinger, head of the Cruise Ship Crime Unit back in D.C. It was after midnight here, even later there, but his boss/friend was concerned. This was an important case to both of them.

“I’m all bought and paid for, yes,” Tony answered, still feeling something like a prostitute.

“Can you handle this assignment or not?” Barry had already known Tony’s distaste for the set-up for this job. But he was a fresh face, an unfamiliar face in the Bureau, at least publicity-wise. He wouldn’t be suspect.

Tony punched another channel. “Of course I can.” He could deal with the undercover work no problem. Keeping his distance—which he absolutely had to—from Miranda was going to be much harder to do.

“So what kind of woman managed to win you?”

Barry might be his new boss, but they’d known each other for years. Tony recognized the amusement in his friend’s tone and it irritated him. “At least it wasn’t the redhead who looked at me like I was a piece of juicy meat she was dying to munch on.” He shuddered at how close he’d come to having to spend eight hellish days fighting her off.

Barry chortled. “Not that I haven’t seen you look at a woman or two like that.”

“Yeah, well, that was different. And after this experience, I’m sure going to try and control myself better.” He’d never really thought about how a woman must feel when a man made suggestive, often inappropriate, advances. Or how they felt being ogled.

His friend laughed again. “Uh-huh. Anyway, so who did pay for the pleasure of your company?”

Tony immediately thought back to the way Alexandra Tilton had played with the word pleasure, the way he’d responded. And the way his winner had looked somewhat surprised…then the way she’d grown bold enough to kiss him. “A late-twenties woman by the name of Miranda McGuire.” He’d been trying not to think about her since he’d left the auction. Trying and failing.

“You’re kidding! I met a Miranda McGuire once. I suppose the name is more common than you’d think.”

Tony sat up straighter, something, again, feeling odd about this whole situation. Cautiously he asked, “She wasn’t a long legged, caramel-blond was she? She didn’t have pale blue eyes, dimples, and Angelina Jolie lips did she?”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Barry said in amazement. “Interesting, too.”

“How so?” Tony had a bad feeling now.

“You’ve just described Special Agent Miranda McGuire. IRS Special Agent. I met her in the Kansas City office a couple of years back, right after she’d transferred there from LA, I think it was. Serious eye candy, you lucky dog.”

Tony slumped against the stack of pillows. “She’s still serious eye candy.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Guess now we know how the IRS is investigating the cruise line.”

“Guess we do,” Barry agreed. “She’s good, too. She had a strong reputation before she transferred there and I’ve heard good things about her since then. Remember my sister-in-law works in that office, which is why I visited there back then.

“I’ve also heard that she’s a bit of a rebel. Does the job but plays by her own rules sometimes, much to her superior’s frustration,” Barry informed him, sounding thoughtful. “I’ve also heard that she’s pretty fearless. She takes some chances that others consider way outside the box, dangerous. But she gets the job done.”

Barry chuckled. “She’s going to try your nerves, Mr. By-the-book. Truthfully, I’m going to enjoy hearing your reports on the situation more than I’d expected to.”

A rebel. Fearless or careless? Tony didn’t like the sound of the way she did the job. He didn’t like even thinking that she might get into a dangerous situation. In fact, it sounded like he’d have to keep an eye on her while he tried to do his own job. Damn this was complicated. Barry was right, he could adapt to a work situation, but he played well within regulations.

“Too late to back out of this assignment, isn’t it?” Tony asked, not really meaning it but tempted anyway.

“Buck up, Mancini, you can handle it.”

Handle the assignment? Or dealing with Special Agent McGuire? He sure as hell hoped he could handle it all. Well, if she acted too careless, he’d take her in hand and make sure she stayed out of trouble. Meaning he just might warm her pert bottom if need be. He’d have to make sure she wasn’t armed at the time, of course. She was licensed to carry a gun just like he was.

*********

Twelve hours later Miranda settled into the window seat in the nearly empty first class section of the plane. Her stomach rolled with nerves. Her entire body was all too aware of the big man taking his seat next to her. He’d looked yummy last night. Today he looked every bit the sinfully sexy playboy she’d dreamt about into the wee hours of the morning. She’d paid a lot of money for six foot something of sensual trouble.

She forced her attention out the window, staring at nothing really. Anything was better than sitting here thinking about Antonio Mancini. Passengers slowly made their way down the narrow aisle, but her awareness was only of the man she was supposed to share a ship’s suite with for the next eight days. She wasn’t sure she could do her job after all, and that irritated her. She’d never faced this problem before.

He reached over and touched her arm and she nearly shot out of her seat. When she glowered at him, he merely looked amused. This irritated her all the more.

“What?” she asked, pulling her arm from under his large hand.

One side of his mouth tilted up and revealed a dimple beneath his freshly trimmed beard. He leaned closer, lowered his voice, “Calm down, Special Agent McGuire, of the IRS. I’m not going to have my way with you right here in front of all these passengers.”

She darted a glance toward the people edging down the aisle. Nobody was listening to them. Her heart raced as she lowered her own voice and asked, “How do you know who I am?”

His blue eyes sparked with superiority, with having bested her somehow and she wanted to smack him. “Evidently my contacts are better than yours.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Exactly who are you?”

He flashed a flirty smile at the airline attendant who reached through the line of passengers to hand him a cup of coffee. As he faced her again, he said, “Special Agent Mancini, FBI. Curious situation, isn’t it? Both of us working undercover, obviously for different reasons.”

His expression turned more serious and he once more leaned closer. “Both of us somewhat lying…for the sake of an assignment. But I want to make this clear, I don’t approve of lying. This will be the last time either of us lies to the other. This was the only time it was acceptable.”

“I don’t lie, Mancini,” she huffed, anxious to call Pete and burn his ears for not having found out about this situation and forewarned her. “I may omit something. I may skirt the full truth, for the sake of a job. But I don’t lie.”

“Good and see that you don’t. Ever.” He sipped his coffee. “While we’re together you also won’t bend the rules and get your pretty little nose into a dangerous situation. I don’t have time to do my job and protect you at the same time.”

She up stiffly and shifted right into his face to snap, “You have no right, none, to tell me how to do my job. And, just so you know, I don’t have time to do my job and protect you either.”

He dared to reach around her and place his big hand low on her back, at the top of her suddenly clenching buttocks. “If I have to warm your sweet ass to keep you in line, to make you behave, I will.”

Miranda froze. Her buttocks quivered. She couldn’t have heard him right. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”

His hand lightly tapped high on her bottom and he smiled. “Is that undercover talk for skirting a subject? If you’re thinking I meant that I’d spank you, well, yes. That’s exactly what I meant. What I promise.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He removed his hand and gave her a cocky grin as he sat back in his seat. “Randi, we’ll be just fine as long as you behave. Now sit back and ponder these next wonderful ten days in each other’s presence.” He closed his eyes as if prepared to sleep now.

Randi? She couldn’t ever remember being called that. What was she thinking? That didn’t matter. What mattered was the big oaf thought he could threaten her…threaten her with a childish punishment for misbehavior. Threaten to spank her!

She turned away to look out the window again. The really curious thing was that she tingled all over in weird anticipation. She’d never been spanked. In truth her parents had been too busy fighting to pay much attention to her at all, even when she pushed them to their limits at times. She’d probably earned more than one spanking, or at least a good lecture on behavior. But to be spanked as an adult? The notion was really, truly strange. Even stranger, she was fascinated by the very idea.

Still, she couldn’t just let what he’d said stand. “I’m a black belt.”

She felt him move closer, lean right next to her back. “Won’t keep you from experiencing a red bottom if necessary. Trust me on that, sweetheart.”