Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) by Susan Vaughan Page B

my dear. “After you, ladies.”
    “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Mimi?” Stacy’s grin was bigger than the ship’s buffet.
    Without missing a beat, he said, “I’m Thomas Devlin.”
    Thomas . The name sounded right delivered by his deep voice. And Tommy didn’t suit the boss of a security company. One who spoke with authority and wore woodsy cologne. She could kick him for smelling sinfully delicious.
    Cleo squeezed the introduction to Stacy and Deidre from between clenched teeth.
    The two women declared how thrilled they were to meet him. He asked them what port they’d liked so far and seemed to focus on their answers with sincerity. With Deidre prodding her from behind, she had no choice but to walk up the stairs beside Tommy— Thomas . Deidre and Stacy fell in behind them.
    He took her arm and draped her pashmina over it. “You left this in the restaurant.”
    “Thank you. How did you find me?”
    “A lucky guess.”
    Oh, right. He’d probably bribed another one of the staff. She seethed, unable to blast him with her two all-ears pals on their heels. How could she shake him?
    When they reached the exit, Stacy spoke up. “We’re headed up to the nightclub for karaoke. Won’t you join us?”
    Cleo closed her eyes. No, no, please say no .
    He laughed, that sexy rumble she’d never forgotten and felt deep inside her, dammit. “Thank you, but I need my sleep. I have an early morning tai chi class.”
    With a wave, he strode away.
    She managed to keep her mouth from dropping open as she watched him go. The man did have a fine rear view. His tailored trousers cupped his firm buns. Muscular legs propelled him. He moved with an athlete’s natural and steady grace.
    She should be relieved he was going. What was he up to?

Chapter 8
    THOMAS STOOD TO the side, away from the stateroom door’s peephole. He mouthed, “Now.”
    The white-jacketed waiter grinned and tapped on the door. “ Madame? I bring you clean towels.”
    A rustling noise beyond the door. Then, “Just a sec.”
    Thomas held his breath. If she noticed the tray with its covered plate—obviously not clean towels—would she open the door? She could call Security, but no, too risky after what he’d explained.
    After an interminable moment, the door opened. Cleo, still dressed in the slinky green wrap dress, gaped at the waiter. One hand flew to her throat, shadows of emotion darkening her expression. Fear? When her wide gaze lit on Thomas, her brows drew together and her mouth thinned.
    Before she had time to object, he elbowed his way inside and held the door open. “You left without dinner.”
    She held up a hand. “You can’t come in.”
    “I’m already in... Mimi.” Her hair was loose on her shoulders the way he liked it. Her citrus scent tempted him to soften his approach. But no, he had to make her understand her life was at stake. “No karaoke?”
    “Maybe I have an early tai chi class too,” she huffed.
    “I’ll be there if you will.” He turned to the waiter, who stared, rapt, at their exchange.
    The man’s cheeks flushed the brick-red of the carpet before he ducked his head. He slipped past Cleo and deposited the tray on the cocktail table. “ Buon appetito, signorina,” he said as he slunk out.
    “Thank you, Armando.” Thomas closed the door firmly.
    “How much did you bribe him?”
    “Bribe is an ugly word. He accepted a tip for his services. Worth every penny.” He set the goblets on the vanity counter beside the closet and poured wine into both. “I had a glass of this at dinner. Very nice.”
    “I don’t want any.”
    “You shouldn’t have opened the door so readily. The stewards already prepared the room.” He gestured toward the bed and its towel frog with coffee creamer eyes.
    “I suppose it could’ve been an assassin.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, worse. It’s you.”
    “Give me a chance to explain some things, and you’ll change your mind.”
    He put a glass in her hand and closed her