Shipped(24)

Well, the long hike is definitely out. I need the extra time to kick-start my proposal.

“Listen, I’ll see if I can get you some crackers or something—” I start, but soft, heavy breathing floats over from Walsh’s bed. She’s already asleep.

I quickly use the bathroom and pull on a bathing suit, T-shirt, shorts, and sandals. After popping a Dramamine, I head toward the observation deck to pick up snorkeling gear. My lungs squeeze at the thought of swimming through the ocean’s murky, suffocating depths, but I’m going to have to suck it up. At least the first snorkeling excursion isn’t until this afternoon, giving me a few hours’ reprieve before I have to face the inevitable.

I climb the stairs to the outdoor observation deck where staff is distributing equipment. It’s a swell of controlled chaos. A line of guests at least a dozen deep stretches halfway across the upper deck, leading to rows of bins and wet suits hanging on racks. Another ten guests dot the outer edges, clambering into wet suits and trying on fins.

Slipping on my sunglasses, I join the end of the line and try not to sway with the movement of the ship. A brisk breeze chafes my nose and my stomach growls noisily, reminding me how empty it is. I grumble along with it.

“Good morning,” Graeme’s husky voice rumbles as he steps up next to me.

I wince. Of course he found me.

He’s wearing a white T-shirt and a day pack, while his eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses. His wavy hair lifts in the wind and his skin glows with a healthy tan. My gaze travels down to his black athletic shorts and I snort.

“Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” The words are out of my mouth before I can reel them in. Sleep-deprived Henley equals loopy Henley.

Graeme’s lips twitch and the dimple in his chin deepens. “You’re lucky I didn’t record that. Human resources wouldn’t approve of such innuendo.”

My chest tightens for only a heartbeat before Graeme pulls a perky yellow banana from his pocket with a wink. Unpeeling it, he lifts it to his mouth, but pauses before taking a bite. “I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning.”

“Because I wasn’t there. I slept through my alarm.”

After several seconds, he sighs. “Here.” He tilts the partially unpeeled banana toward me.

“I don’t want it.”

“Eat it. You need energy to hike.”

“I’m not going on the long hike.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m doing the beach walk at eleven.”

“That’s for the elderly and people too hungover to make it off the ship by 9:30. Which one are you?”

I hit him with my iciest glare.

He nudges me with his elbow. “Come on, don’t wimp out. Do the long hike. You’re only in the Galápagos once. You should take advantage of every minute.”

“I don’t need to do the long hike to get a flavor for the guest experience, and besides, there will be hikes offered every day. Some of us have to work.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs. “Are you sure you don’t want this banana?” My stomach chooses that moment to rumble like a hungry elephant. He gives my midsection a pointed look. I tap my toe against the wood deck.

“Fine. I’ll take it.” I reach for it, but he yanks it back. His eyebrows raise. I furrow mine. He proffers the banana again. This time, I snatch it.

Our fingers brush. A buzz of energy zings between us like a closed circuit. My insides warm and goose bumps rise along my forearms. Coughing, I jerk away. Graeme scratches his jaw and looks out over the waves toward the green and white-rimmed island beyond.

I’ve never had this kind of visceral reaction to mere skin contact. Not with either of my two ex-boyfriends or even with the first boy I kissed—no one. My throat tightens and I shove away any thoughts of what that could possibly mean.

Nothing. It means nothing. It’s just the physical manifestation of the withering disdain I’ve developed for Graeme over the last year. Or perhaps it’s my system experiencing residual turbulence from yesterday’s stomach upset. That’s probably it. I quickly take an oversized bite.

“How’s Walsh?” Graeme asks.

I chew thickly and swallow. “She’s been better.”

“And how are you?” He inclines his chin meaningfully.

“Fantastic. Peachy.”

“Nervous about snorkeling this afternoon?”

“No way. I got this snorkel thing locked down.” I take another bite to avoid telling more lies.

“Sure you do.” Diving his hands into his pockets, Graeme rocks in place in his sandals. Damn it, even his feet are attractive. Man feet generally aren’t—the toes are always long and hairy, and nail care leaves something to be desired. But Graeme has nice feet, strong calves, and a hint of muscular thighs…

Stop staring.

I finish the banana in five more bites and throw away the peel in the trash can across the deck.

When I return to my spot in line, the slap-slap of flip-flops approaching co-opts my attention. I suppress a groan. Nikolai is wearing a faded shorty wetsuit unzipped and rolled down to his waist, and he’s strutting, gut sucked in, arms pumping like he’s on Baywatch. Surprise flickers through me. His stomach may be on the softer side, but his arms are relatively sculpted. Good for him.