Shipped(49)

Should I lie?

“I heard something,” I hedge.

“Your sister asking me to blow off the next excursion and meet her in your cabin?”

I take a hasty step back and my calves bump into my bed. “Um, what?”

“Oh. So you didn’t hear that…”

“No! I mean, I knew she was hitting on you. She licked your ear.” I grimace.

Tilting his chin up, Graeme’s face splits into a radiant smile. “I knew it. You are jealous.”

“Me? Jealous?” Heat gathers at the base of my neck and I clutch the lapel of my robe. “Get real.”

“You’re scowling.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I owe you an apology.”

“Accepted.”

“Not for this.” He motions between us. “I’m sorry for not making it immediately clear to your sister that I wasn’t interested. I should have set her straight, but I wanted to see how you would react. And boy, did you react.”

My cheeks flame. “I did not.”

“So you’re telling me you wanted to go kayaking with that… that… chiropractor? And it had absolutely, positively nothing to do with me?”

“Not everything’s about you, you know.”

Graeme’s nostrils flare. “Aren’t you tired of this game? You can’t tell me you weren’t jealous. I saw your face on the beach this morning. Like you were starting fires with your mind.”

This conversation is diving into dangerous waters. My legs itch to flee, but I’m boxed in between the beds with nowhere to go.

“You get a little crease, right here, when you’re angry.” He taps my forehead between my eyes. “I know. I’ve seen it in a lot of meetings. And every time your sister looked at me today, tried to show off for me, that crease might as well have been permanently tattooed.”

Taking a deep breath, Graeme steps closer until he’s less than an arm’s length away. He’s bigger than I am and his body towers over me in the cramped space, but there’s a hesitancy to his posture. A vulnerability I haven’t seen before. He swallows. “You gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, you might feel the same way about me as I feel about you.”

“How do you feel about me?” I whisper.

“Usually? Irritation and an extreme urge to shove a whipped-cream pie in your face. But also, desperation. Desire. And, fuck, I want to kiss you.”

Graeme Crawford-Collins wants to kiss me.

I’m dizzy with the knowledge. His face swirls in my vision.

What would the stubble on his jaw feel like against my cheek? A rough graze or a tender caress? What do his lips taste like—some strange, forbidden fruit of spice and honey, or a burst of mint as brisk and sudden as a spring snow? And how would the flavor of him pair with his heady, masculine scent?

I imagine inhaling deeply at the crook of his neck before sampling his lips. Why yes, sommelier, you were right. Cedar with notes of grapefruit, a nice mouthfeel, and a strong, smooth finish.

I sway, and grasp handfuls of his shirt—an anchor in this bewildering tableau. My knuckles curl against the firm muscles of his chest. His palm snakes around to the back of my neck, fingers entwining in my hair.

“May I?” he whispers. His lips ghost against mine, only the suggestion of space between us.

Pulling back a fraction, he pauses.

He’s waiting for an answer.

There’s heat and longing and curiosity and desire, and for once, I don’t want to say no. My eyes flutter closed.

Yes.

Then the cabin door bangs open, and I launch away from Graeme like I’ve stepped on a box full of mousetraps. The back of my knees jam into my bed and I tumble onto the mattress in a flail of limbs.

Walsh is standing in the doorway.

She blinks at us, pulls an about-face, and practically runs out of the room.





17




Walsh, wait.”

I’m out of the cabin before I can think twice. The tie around my waist is dangerously loose and the neck of my robe has fallen open to expose more cleavage than I’m comfortable sharing with the general public. Yanking my robe together and cinching my belt, I jog after her.

Behind me, a door opens and closes followed by another—Graeme must be returning to his own cabin. Heat fills my cheeks as disappointment barrels through me like a flash flood.

I can’t think about that right now.

Walsh has been flirting with Graeme since we boarded the ship, and I nearly kissed him. I catch Walsh by the arm just as she reaches the stairs.

She whirls around. “What are you doing?” she demands, breaking free of my grip.

“Walsh, I—”

“You get back in there right now and kiss his face off!”

“What?”

“You heard me. I know what you guys were about to do. Damn it, Henley, why didn’t you tell me you liked him!” She punches me in the shoulder.

“Ow.” I rub the spot.

“Go. Get your man.” She turns to walk up the stairs and I grab her again. This time, I don’t let go.

“We need to talk. Now.” Gripping her by the elbow, I steer her into our cabin.

“Why didn’t y—” she begins once the door closes behind us, but I cut her off.