Shipped(82)

Graeme props himself up on one elbow. “I doubt it. He doesn’t know I’m in town.”

My floral watercolor comforter pools low around his waist, revealing his strong chest, sculpted arms, and acres of glorious skin. My cheeks warm. Having a naked man in my bed has been a rarity in recent years. And having that naked man be someone who makes me want to sing and laugh and cry big, fat happy tears all at once is an absolute first. I run a palm over his whiskery face.

From God knows where, he pulls out his cell phone and snuggles onto the pillow next to me before lifting it high above us. “Morning selfie.”

“Ugh, no, I look terrible,” I say, diving for cover. My hair is a veritable squirrel’s nest and I’m pretty sure I have mascara smudges under my eyes.

“You’re beautiful.”

I purse my lips but can’t prevent the smile that rises from the depths of my soul. With his lips pressed against my temple, he snaps a picture. We both look at it. My breath catches at the casual intimacy displayed on the screen.

“You’re not posting that on Instagram, are you?” I ask.

“No way. This one’s all for me.”

“What made you finally join anyway?”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “You did.”

“And your handle, Graeme Cracker_Collins. Is that because of me?”

“Partly. It was my mom’s nickname for me too. But I like hearing you say it.”

I roll over until I’m on top of him. The sheet falls away, and goose bumps form along my exposed skin. “Graham Cracker,” I drawl.

His chest expands as he growls, and I brush my lips against his. I jerk back a fraction. “When are you heading back to Michigan?” Please don’t say today.

“Tomorrow.”

I exhale.

“But I’ll be back next week. I have a job interview with a local company and they’re flying me out—”

I edge off him, clutching the comforter to my chest. “No. You can’t.”

He pushes himself up to sit higher against the pillows. “Why not?”

“Because you have to take the digital director job at Seaquest.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re perfect for it! Your digital storytelling ideas are amazing and you love to travel, and this job can give you that.”

“But what about you?”

I shrug and flop back on my pillow. “Let’s just see what Marlen says about my idea. If he approves it, maybe I’ll have a chance to work out of a different department. Maybe with Renata.” Renata is the chief itinerary officer, the only woman on the executive board, and my personal hero. She worked her way up in the company after starting as a deckhand on one of the ships in the nineties. Talk about a self-made success story.

“In that case we should get our day started. Because you need to polish your pitch for Marlen.” Even as he says it, a wicked gleam lights his eye.

“We should get up. We definitely should.” But right now, no part of me wants to. Releasing the blanket, I crawl on top of him. His body is warm and all too inviting. “How about in fifteen minutes?”

“Thirty, at least. I need to taste every inch of that delectable skin,” he rumbles.

My stomach does backflips at the pure, molten lust in his gaze. “Forty-five,” I counter.

“Now you’re just being greedy,” he murmurs into the crook of my neck before nipping me with his teeth. “Deal.”

He’s right, I am greedy. Because I want it all. And I’m going to have it.



* * *



“There’s still so much to do,” I say four hours later, bare fleet slapping against wood as I stride across my living room and snag the notepad from the coffee table. “I don’t know how I’m going to have everything polished by tomorrow morning.”

“You don’t need to,” says Graeme from where he’s sprawled on the couch, laptop perched on his lap. “You just need to have your main talking points, the basic framework for implementation, and a few examples fleshed out. I don’t think Marlen will expect you to launch the entire program by the end of the meeting.”

I grind my molars. “I hate feeling unprepared.”

Setting his laptop aside, Graeme rises to his feet. His jeans hang low on his hips, and his Red Wings T-shirt hugs his biceps. Gripping me by the shoulders, he stops my frantic pacing. “You got this. It’s barely noon. We have all day and night to make your proposal perfect before your meeting tomorrow.”

Taking a deep breath, I nod. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too.” He rests his forehead against mine for a breath before stealing a kiss. “Now, what do you think of this?” Plucking his laptop off the coffee table, he rotates it so I can see the screen. On it is a mock Facebook post with a photo of a Darwin’s finch and a story of the conservation work supported by donations from our guests.

I grin. “Fantastic. Now what if we—”

My cell phone buzzes against my hip. Probably Walsh, since I haven’t seen her since last night. When I catch the name on the screen, I frown and hastily tap the green accept call icon.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Henley, thank God I caught you.” Barbara’s words are a breathless jumble. “You need to come into the office. As soon as you can, right now.”