Decked with Holly by Marni Bates Read Free Book Online Page A

going to make it.
    Except . . . the door to room 329 appeared to be slightly ajar with a room service trolley waiting right outside of it.
    I bolted inside.
    Which was honestly the most daring thing I had done since . . . slapping Santa. Okay, bad example, because I am a good, rule-abiding citizen. Honestly. That had just been an instinctive—and justifiable—response to uncalled-for grope-age.
    It was a knee-jerk reaction, which ended with me kneeing a jerk.
    This time, at least, my instinctive response was unlikely to incite a minor brawl in a public area. That ought to count as even more progress. I was just doing a little bit of breaking and entering.
    Oh, yeah, I had definitely earned myself a spot on Santa’s naughty list this year.
    A startled room service guy who appeared to be wringing the life out of a towel, or maybe turning it into one of those swans fancy hotels leave for decoration, tried to stop me with a horrifed “Ma’am!” but I just waved him off.
    â€œIt’s fine. I’m supposed to be here!”
    Which wasn’t a total lie, strictly speaking. Getting sick in a bathroom was definitely preferable to having it happen in a pristine hallway. Although at that point, I honestly would have said anything for bathroom access.
    I made it just in time. Clinging to the toilet, I let loose a muffled roar that sounded distinctly prehistoric, like the mating call of a dinosaur, which echoed dully around the room.
    Then it all came back up and a distant part of myself that was observing in a state of calm detachment just shrugged and said, “Well, at least now you won’t have to work off those calories. Aunt Jessica will be so proud.”
    Because that was a healthy way to put things in perspective.
    Not.
    All I wanted was to hear the captain announce over the loudspeaker, “There has been a change of plans, folks. We’re pulling into Cabo now and staying here for the full eight days of the cruise. We hope this isn’t an inconvenience.”
    That would be perfect. Although anything that would get me off the damn ship would sound like heaven to me. But the silence in the room remained unbroken for such a long time that I wondered if I really was all alone. If I could curl up and fall asleep right beside the toilet with no one the wiser.
    That little fantasy fizzled out when I dimly heard a sliding door shut before the room service guy said, “Here’s your coffee, sir. Will that be all?”
    â€œYep, that’s it. Have a nice night.”
    â€œThank you, sir.”
    Just my freaking luck.
    The door clicked shut, and it should have been silent in the room again except I thought I heard . . . tapping. It sounded like there was a deranged woodpecker nearby, but that wasn’t possible. Not on a cruise ship. My brain felt inundated with a wave of static as everything momentarily became pixilated and fuzzy. I rested my forehead in the palm of my hand and waited for the feeling to pass before trying to focus on the bright colors by my feet. It appeared to be a garish Hawaiian-print shirt, crumpled on top of dark jeans, which only exacerbated my headache.
    The clothes appeared to be male in origin. Which also made sense given that I distinctly remembered the room service guy calling The Resident of Room 329 “sir.”
    It had taken me way too long to figure out that little puzzle.
    But at least now that my stomach was empty it couldn’t churn quite so viciously and I could focus on the important stuff. Like whose room I had, ahem, borrowed .
    Okay, so it belonged to a guy. Probably a nice, conservative corporate drone who fantasized about being a fisherman and leaving his cubicle far behind him. Although he might not be alone. If the room was anywhere near as nice as the bathroom, that guy had spent some serious money for these accommodations. Something he’d probably done in order to get Mrs. Corporate in the mood. I squeezed my eyes shut. I