Free Notorious in Nice by Jianne Carlo

buck nekkid, darlin’.”
    “Terry.” The intercom buzzed again and Harry slurred the word a tad. “Dinner’s in half an hour. The aunt and uncle are headed down to Su-Lin’s cabin. Maybe you should warn her.”
    “Frick, well, there’s naught for it. Unless you want them knowing what we just did, you’d better get dressed, darlin’.” He hopped off the bed, stalked over to a floor-length narrow drape, and pulled it back to reveal a door. A quick twist of the handle opened the door to the adjacent room: hers. He sprinted across the cabin and twisted the lock shut.
    As he reentered the captain’s master, his little Asian bent over at the waist and picked up a garment. Terry paused, overcome with lust. Raking her sleek thighs and firm, contoured ass, he decided to find a way to extend their three-week cruise. Even if they went at it like rabbits, stealing every spare moment, Terry knew twenty-one days wouldn’t cut his hunger.
    Minutes later, he had Su-Lin ensconced in her cabin with mere seconds to spare. Mugging a grimace at the soiled comforter, he shook his head, more disconcerted than he cared to admit about his adolescent performance.
    What was it about this woman-child that had him shooting off at the slightest provocation?
    Mulling it over as he showered and dressed, Terry could come to only one conclusion: the virgin thing appealed, being first, being the only. Jaysus. He halted in midstride, the last thought too dangerous, too permanent for consideration.
    First things first: get rid of his father and brother. He hurried to the soundproofed media room he had designed, secured the door, and sat in the swivel leather chair custom-made for his large form. Using Skype, he dialed Geoff Stanford, his best friend, now the worst traitor on the face of the earth.
    “Why’d you do it?” he barked before Geoff could even speak. “Why’d you go along with the sodding bastard?”
    “Your twin’s sick, Terry. Thomas has a brain tumor, and the operation to remove it could kill him.”
    Nausea welled up his gullet, and he had to swallow a few times before his clogged throat cleared. Cancer. Thom. Sweat peppered his forehead.
    “Shite. Are you sure?”
    “I did a living will for him. You’re the one who decides when to turn off the machines, if he’s left brain dead.”
    Brain dead. The two words thrummed like Notre Dame’s bells in his ears.
    “Terry, you there?”
    He couldn’t focus. The moisture misting his eyes blurred the LCD screen.
    “I’m here.” He cleared his throat. “Are you sure? It’s not a ruse?”
    “Not bloody likely, Terry. Get a grip. Would Thomas do that to you?”
    “He wouldn’t, but our prick of a father would.”
    “Your father doesn’t know about the tumor.”
    “What’s Thom’s prognosis, Geoff? Give it to me straight.”
    “As far as I know, the tumor’s operable, but he could lose some motor coordination and/or some brain functioning.”
    Seconds crawled by, and the words didn’t sink in but hovered like a thick veil obscuring any pretense at reason. “He’s come to say good-bye, hasn’t he?”
    “It’s what I would do. He asked me not to tell you, Terry.”
    “I can’t pretend not to fricking know.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    “Whatever Thom wants. This is his call,” he replied, knuckling his throbbing temple. “I wish to hell my father wasn’t along for the fricking ride. Who is Thom’s doctor?”
    “A New York surgeon referred to by his UK consultant. As far as I know the operation’s in six weeks’ time.”
    “I punched him. I haven’t seen my brother in years. He comes to make peace. And what do I do? I deck him.” Remorse and disgust twisted his intestines into a daggered series of cramps. Terry gulped back bile.
    “Snap out of it. Thom doesn’t need you wallowing in self-pity.”
    “Too right. Let me call you back, Geoff. I’m sure I’ll have questions, but I need to digest this first.”
    “I can only imagine.”
    What a