EXCERPT

“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 half-way through the auction, stopping everything with her unexpected arrival. Immediately the press had 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 and the crowd 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 week long cruise with him wasn’t what she wanted to do. It was what she’d been ordered to do.

The two other women at her table bounded to their feet—again—and bounced up and down, waving madly in an attempt to gain this bachelor’s attention. They’d been doing much the same 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. 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. Those sums of money weren’t going to those 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. 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.

“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.

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.

Okay maybe she was a teeny, tiny bit interested. There was something about … She kind of liked… No! She had a job to do. 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.

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 cruise line was being investigated by the IRS. 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, ratcheted up the husky tone, “I’m positive we will both enjoy a week in paradise.”

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.