Shipped(68)

Walking over to Walsh, he whispers something in her ear. She beams and scrolls through her phone. When she nods, he strides to the dais and stands in the very center, facing me. Spreading his legs shoulder width apart, he forms a circle with his fingers and thumb and brings it to his mouth as though he’s holding a microphone. Walsh scurries over to fill his vacated seat and plops down next to me.

I lock eyes with Graeme. The lounge speakers crackle. With a grin that makes me tingle all the way to my toes, he drops his chin to his chest.

The opening refrain to ABBA’s “Take a Chance on Me” pumps through the speakers. And my heart bursts like a pi?ata.

Graeme holds completely still, only his lips moving in time with the lyrics. Then as the backup vocals join, he lifts his chin to meet my eyes. His heel bounces in time to the rhythm. The instruments surge. His eyes gleam. And his movements swell with the music.

Whereas Nikolai was all shimmying shoulders and gyrating hips, Graeme’s dancing is understated, subtle.

And sexy as fuck.

Heat rises through my body like steam escaping a vent.

A stained glass window doesn’t need fancy curtains. And a perfect male specimen like Graeme doesn’t need look-at-me dance moves to ooze sensuality. A swirl of his hips does the trick.

Graeme rocks rhythmically back and forth and thumbs his chest during the refrain. When he rolls his hips in time to the music, my mouth goes dry and a shiver zings down my spine. He channels the enthusiasm of Tom Cruise and the carnality of Patrick Swayze. He’s Jake Ryan, Patrick Verona, and Clark Kent rolled into one. An Adonis mouthing the soprano words to the iconic 1970s disco pop musical group.

And through it all, his eyes never leave my face.

Walsh clutches my forearm in a holy shit grip.

Guests murmur to one another, shooting me covert glances.

I don’t care.

Because my inner thirteen-year-old is squealing so hard right now I could rip a pillow. He’s putting himself out there, sacrificing his pride—for me. I barely notice when Walsh lifts the tilting wineglass from my slack grip and places it on the table.

The second verse arrives, and Graeme falters. His smile wavers as he seems to register the bevy of enraptured guests for the first time. A flush spreads across his cheekbones.

I stand.

My mouth automatically forms the lyrics I know by heart. I extend an arm toward him…

His chest rises and falls for a breath before he smiles, eyes shining. He takes my hand and pulls me onto the dais and straight into a twirl.

And then we’re alone. The lights go black except for the spotlight above us. The crowd fades away. There’s only the sway of the ship, the swell of the music, and the energy rising between us.

Take a chance on me.

We begin to move, only our palms touching. We’re in perfect sync, mirror images of one another. I let the music fill me and I channel every ounce of giddy joy filling my lungs.

He slides me in front of him, my back to his front, allowing me to take the lead. I cartwheel my arms from hip to hip, fluttering my fingers in a thoroughly cheesy move. Graeme mirrors a beat behind me. I dip and shimmy side to side and mouth the lyrics, peering at him over my shoulder as he sways opposite me.

Strong fingers grasp my hip and Graeme spins me to face him. We move together in time to the music.

I devour every angle and curve of his face. I bask in the ecstasy seeping through my veins and the pull between us and even the apprehension tugging at the threads of my heart—I bask in it all. Because I’m here and I’m ready to take a chance… on Graeme.

I lose the flow of the lyrics and my mouth stops moving. His lips still as well and his eyes blaze. I slide my hands up to his shoulders. I’m swaying in his arms. We’re close, his lips inches from mine, but it’s still too far… I rise up on my toes…

The music changes abruptly. Bass notes strum a different disco beat.

Walsh leaps to the center of the platform. “Dance party interlude!”

Several guests cheer as they stand, already dancing their way toward the center of the room. I blink rapidly, realizing that, no, the lounge lights haven’t dimmed, and we’ve been dancing together on brightly lit display for a third of the ship this entire time. Nikolai frowns with crossed arms, but Walsh shimmies over to him and pulls him up and into the dancing crowd. From behind his back, she mouths “Go.”

I look up at Graeme. Nibbling my lower lip, I tilt my head toward the door. “Want to get out of here?” I murmur.

His eyes flash like sparks as his fingers tighten around mine. An audible sigh laced with a growl radiates from his chest. “Hell yes.”





23




We’re not three steps from the lounge when Graeme pushes me against the wall, crushing his lips against mine. The song Walsh chose to cover our getaway filters into the hall: “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough.” My lips curl into a smile against Graeme’s.

“I win,” he breathes.

“Technically,” I murmur between kisses. “You kissed me. So I win.”

“It’s a tie.”

“Deal.”

His fingers tangle in my hair and I moan as his tongue dips into my mouth. We’re all teeth and lips, hunger and heat. It takes me several breaths to realize a metal handrail is digging into my lower back.

Pushing at his chest, I disconnect. We’re alone here in the hallway at the top of the stairs, but that could change at any second. The last thing I want is Gustavo catching us making out like a couple of horny teenagers. He’s still James’s eyes and ears, and I can’t afford to forget that.