Not that she wants me to. Or does she?
After I kissed her, Yasmin had stared up at me with such soft sweetness, and I’d felt myself at the edge of a precipice, about to fall headlong into … something. I could see myself trying to be with her every second, ignoring work, forgetting about sales, and that would be disastrous for my future. So I’d told her I wouldn’t let her slack off, but I was talking more to myself, honestly.
When she’d gotten mad and left, I’d let her, because Letta’s reappearance had reminded me of how awkward shipboard dating can be if things go sour, but it had only taken five minutes for me to reconsider. Unfortunately, Yasmin wasn’t in her room by the time I came to my senses. I searched a few of the spots around the ship where we’ve worked on Sofia’s project together—the library, the couches in front of the atrium’s giant fish tank—but couldn’t find her.
Maybe it’s for the best. The way Yasmin’s looking at me right now, I don’t know what she’s thinking, whether we’re on good terms or bad. I tell myself that we both need to focus on our sales, and assign her to work the outdoor areas of the ship while I work inside. I barely see her that day aside from passing one another at the shop.
The next morning, I’m assembling the debarkation photo crew when Yasmin shows up at the store. It’s a port day and she’s not scheduled to work, but I can’t go back on my punishment, so she’s stuck on the ship. And I’m betting she’s probably pissed about that.
“Don’t even ask,” I say as she walks over to me.
She blinks. “Ask what?”
“To go off the ship.” My voice is harsh, because if Yasmin begs, I know I’ll give in. She’s dressed in a summery peach dress and I can see her bathing suit ties around her neck, as if she’s ready for the beach. “I told you, I can’t let you until your numbers go up.”
“I know. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh.” Now I feel like even more of an ass. I follow her out of the shop and down the Promenade to a little bench decorated with seashells.
“About the other night,” I say as we sit down. “I’m sorry about the way I acted.”
“For kissing me, or for being a jackass about it afterward?” The glint in Yasmin’s dark eyes tells me she’s teasing. I want to tell her I don’t regret the kiss, or the bell tower. But where would we go from there? Dating an employee won’t look good, not when I have to fire someone. People would say I was playing favorites, and it’s not like they’d be wrong. Besides, Yasmin only saw us as a fling.
Before I can figure out how to respond, Yasmin meets my gaze. “Look, the reason I came to talk to you is … I wanted to say that I know your job’s important to you, and the promotion even more so. I won’t do anything to mess with that.”
My mouth parts in surprise. “You’re not mad at me?”
“Nope.” She shrugs, and I try not to let her bare shoulders distract me. Her smile is light and real. “I’m going to work on Sofia’s collage, and get a tan on the Lido deck. And starting today, I’m going to rock this job. I promise.”
I’m not sure what to say. “Great,” is what I finally come up with.
Yasmin hops off the bench.
“Have a good day, okay?” she says, and takes off toward the elevators. I almost call out to ask if she needs any help with the collage, but I can’t, of course. I’m on the clock today. Although right now spending time with Yasmin sounds a lot more appealing than even a corporate job … which is exactly why I need to put her out of my mind. I drag myself back to the shop.
“Wait, why doesn’t Yasmin have to wear a costume today?” says Richie, a New Zealander who ranks decidedly middle of the pack in terms of sales. “Why does she get a break and we don’t?”
“Because she’s scheduled for one,” I say, a little annoyed. Richie likes to complain. In his last contract on a different ship, apparently it got him a lot of extra free time. But I won’t let him play me. “Let’s go.”
“Maybe I should sleep with him too,” he mutters to the rest of the debarkation team.
Anger slices through me, and I turn. “You have something to say?”
“Come on, everyone knows you and Yasmin are together. That purser, Letta, told us.”
“Letta is mistaken,” I say, and stare Richie down. “Got it?”
After a moment, he mutters an apology, and we get to work.
Over the next two cruise cycles, Yasmin’s sales total improves, which is good because I’d been this close to being forced to tell Randall that Yasmin was the one who should be fired. I still have to make a decision in August, but thankfully she’s no longer the obvious choice—if she can keep up with her numbers.
I can’t help noticing that a lot of her photos are being bought by guys, and they’re of her or Camelia—or both—partying with those guys in the ship’s nightclub. It’s after hours, so it’s none of my business, but it bugs me. Sure, it brings in sales, and the guys on the team do the same thing, but each time a digital image comes up on the photo displays of Yasmin with her arm around some grinning frat-type guy, my gut clenches. I was a mistake to her, a stupid thing to do, so how many more mistakes is she making?
She’s entitled to do whatever she wants, obviously. But if she’s going to make more mistakes … I want them to be with me.
However, knowing the rumors already flying about us, I take care to keep our interactions on the friend level, and my fantasies private. Yasmin and I start our hiking and photography excursions again, and I keep my eyes focused on my camera lens, not on Yasmin.
At the end of our next cruise leg, I tally up the sales numbers like always and sigh at what I see. It’s one of the worst weeks we’ve had, with revenue down on all photo packages. I rake my fingers through my hair, frustrated. I can’t blame my staff completely since the weather was terrible all week—annoyed passengers don’t buy photos—but I know these numbers won’t look good when I meet with Randall.
“So who won this time, boss?” says Yasmin, breaking me out of my thoughts.
I glance up to find my team staring at me expectantly. I should probably give them another talk about improving sales, but my heart isn’t in it right now. I scan the numbers, expecting Charlie or Paolo to be in the lead as usual, but …
“Actually, you won, Yasmin,” I say, surprised.
Her eyes fly wide. “I did?”
Applause bursts through the room, and Camelia high-fives Yasmin.
“What do I win?” Yasmin asks after the rest of the team has headed off to lunch.
“A photo shoot with me in the studio, for head shots.” It’s a $150 value, if a passenger bought it, and it seems to be a popular prize for my staff. I make people look good. But Yasmin doesn’t seem all that excited. “Or an extra afternoon off, I guess,” I add, hiding my disappointment that I won’t get her in front of my lens.
She shakes her head. “I want a photo shoot, I just don’t want it in the studio.”
“All right, a photo shoot with a location of your choice,” I say, my mood improving a little. If I can’t touch her sexy curves, at least I can caress them on camera.
“Done.” Yasmin grins at me.
“Where on the ship did you have in mind?” I ask. She’d look spectacular at the very front of the Radiant Star, the wind in her hair.
“Not on the ship. I want some glamour shots on the beach. Maybe at the Star Heart island?”
“Glamour shots?”
“Like in Vogue. Not the weird spreads, just me in high heels and fabulous dresses, looking awesome.”
She looks awesome already, in a company polo and tiny shorts. I’m not sure I could handle her in slinky dresses. “I’ve never done that kind of photography before.”
“You’re an artist, West. I’m sure it’ll turn out fabulously.” Yasmin’s confident smile warms me, and I have to admit I’m intrigued. I’m not an artist, no matter what Yasmin says, but it might be fun to experiment.
“Great,” I say. “I know just the spot.
” There’s a tiny cove that’s on the opposite side of the island from where the passengers hang out. The beach is rocky and dramatic, with palm trees and white sand between boulders.
So that’s how, three days later when the ship docks at the company’s private island, I’m waiting at the crew’s disembarking ramp wondering just how big of an idiot I am. The cove I’m taking her to is isolated and gorgeous. I can already picture her there—naked. I’m not sure how successful I’ll be in hiding how I feel, because my whole body is tight already. But I’ve got to keep this professional.
Yasmin appears at the top of the ramp, and for a second I think I’m a goner. She’s wearing a white string bikini top and a striped pink sarong that flashes plenty of tanned leg in the breeze. Yasmin’s hair falls to her waist in glossy dark waves, and her hips sway mesmerizingly. Her stomach is flat and toned, which isn’t surprising since I see her working out at the gym most mornings, but which is incredibly distracting. The spread of tanned skin and the dip of her navel make my mouth go dry. I raise a hand in hello, unable to say a word. Yasmin waves back and heads down the ramp to me.
Elise, the pretty blonde American from Hospitality, is right behind her. At first I think she just happens to be leaving the ship at the same time, but then I notice she’s carrying a bag of clothing, plus a little case.
“You coming with us?” I ask as they reach me, and she nods.
“Elise offered to handle my makeup and wardrobe,” Yasmin says. I squelch my stab of disappointment, because it will be way easier to keep my cool around Yasmin with a chaperone. I should be thanking the stars, not wishing I could send Elise back on board.
“Let’s start with the blue dress,” Elise says to Yasmin, and the girls chatter about the clothes they brought as we head down the ramp and onto the sandy island. They’re grinning and laughing, as excited as ten-year-olds playing princess. I lead them back past the bar, cafe and other passenger buildings, then through a copse of palm trees.
After about a twenty-minute walk, we reach the cove.
“Oh, wow, this is gorgeous,” Yasmin says, spinning around to catch the view. “How come passengers don’t get to come here?”
“They used to,” Elise says. “A year ago a guy cut his leg pretty badly on the rocks in the water. He was being an idiot, roughhousing, so it wasn’t the cruise line’s fault, but of course he sued. So now it’s off-limits to passengers.”
“Most of the crew is too lazy to hike over here on their day off,” I add. “There’s another beach closer to the ship that’s reserved for employees, so they stay there.”
I pile my photo equipment on a flat rock. There’s a tripod, plus a couple folding reflective panels to help with the lighting.
“Why don’t we get some shots before I change, to test the light?” Yasmin suggests. I nod, and take my camera and lens from their padded carrier. I adjust the ISO and white balance, then look up.
I inhale sharply.
Yasmin has discarded her sarong and sandals, and is flipping her hair over her shoulders. As I watch, she stretches, reaching her hands up to the sky and going up on tiptoes as if trying to touch the sun.
Her bikini bottoms are a bright white triangle of fabric, matching her top, and the contrast against her skin is divine. When she came on board weeks ago she’d been a lot paler, but the Caribbean sunshine has painted her a deep tan. She’s a pint-sized image of fiery island beauty, and I am in deep freaking trouble.
“Here, lay on this strip of sand,” Elise says, and directs Yasmin down next to the water. Yasmin stretches out on her side, propped on one elbow facing me, one knee raised in a classic swimsuit pose.
My mouth has gone dry. I’m not sure I can speak.
“How’s the lighting?” Yasmin calls.
“Good,” I manage to get out, and pull myself together. I crouch down and frame her in the viewfinder. A small wave surges up the beach and laps around Yasmin, making her yelp in surprise. Elise laughs, and fixes her hair, then turns to me.
“Want me to hold one of the reflectors?” she asks, and fetches one of the silvery foil panels. When the light is perfect, I snap a few shots.
“How do I look?” Yasmin asks with a smile. She laughs. “I feel like Rose from Titanic, posing for Jack.”
That, of course, makes me think of her posing topless like in the movie, which makes my mind jump to the scenes afterward, when Rose and Jack run through the ship and have hot sex in the backseat of an old-timey car. Did she mean to say something that suggestive? Because I want to have sex with Yasmin so bad. So freaking bad. Old-timey car optional.
If Elise weren’t here I’d walk right up to Yasmin, lift her against a boulder, and have a reprise of the bell tower. Just thinking about it has me hard, which makes me swear quietly under my breath. I stay in a crouch and try to think about something un-sexy to get a hold of myself, like my boss Randall Cunningham dressed in a bikini, sprawled out on the beach.
Yeah, that does the trick.
“You look fine,” I say shortly. “Didn’t you want to be photographed in a dress?” I can’t keep looking at her nearly naked body and stay professional; I’ve got to get her covered up more.
Yasmin scrambles to her feet. “We borrowed a dress from one of the production singers, so we have to keep it from getting wet or dirty.” She and Elise duck behind a boulder. I hear rustling, and try not to think about Yasmin’s bikini pieces falling away before the dress is pulled on.
After a couple minutes, the girls return. The gown has thin flowy straps and is crafted from a filmy fabric in shades ranging from aqua to cobalt. It’s way too long on Yasmin but Elise clips it in the back so it fits her torso, causing the layers of fabric to pool at Yasmin’s feet.
After applying some makeup, Elise helps Yasmin climb onto a hefty boulder, then out to another that’s nearly surrounded by water. Once Yasmin’s in position, Elise comes back ashore.
“What do you think?” she asks. “Is that high fashion or what?”
I gaze at the figure on the water. The dress molds to Yasmin’s body, caressing every curve. The hem drapes at her feet, the breeze sweeping it behind and to one side over the gray rock. She looks like an extension of the sea, a nymph rising from the waves specifically to torment me. Even from this distance, I can see her nipples through the thin fabric. I groan. Does she realize what she’s doing to me?
“She looks gorgeous, doesn’t she?” Elise says. Does her voice hold a teasing note? But when I glance over, her expression is utterly placid.
I mutter something about how the makeup looks nice, then raise my camera and start shooting.
The last time I kissed Yasmin I’d felt myself at a precipice, and now I’m right there again, looking at a fall that’s a long way down. Self-preservation makes me struggle against it, but with each click of the shutters I can feel myself tipping further and further over the edge …
Chapter 15
Yasmin
I stand on the rock with my arms out to the sea, feeling like the most glamorous girl in the Caribbean. Or an idiot. I guess it depends on how the photos turn out.
“Got it,” West calls. Elise sidles out onto the boulder to help me back ashore, gathering up the sweeping fabric so it doesn’t touch the water or sand. She’d called out posing instructions as West clicked away at his camera, and now I feel a little jittery to see the results. I’ve never done anything like this before, but what girl hasn’t dreamed about getting dolled up and having her picture taken by a professional photographer? It’s something Sofia always wanted to do …
West holds the camera out so I can see the digital image on the little screen.
“Wow, they’re perfect,” I breathe as he flips through the photos. I’m perfectly framed against the horizon, and West has managed to turn my amateur posing into something otherworldly. I almost don’t recognize myself. “West, you’re an artist.”
“She’s right,” Elise says, craning her neck over my shoulder. “Why are you trying for that promotion in
Miami? You’d be wasted in a corporate zombie job.”
West glances at me sharply. “I thought I asked you not to gossip about that.”
I hold up my hands, but Elise answers for me. “She didn’t—my boss is also in the running, and she considers you her prime competition.”
“Oh.” West pulls the camera away from us. “You want more photos, or a costume change?”
“Costume change!” Elise answers for me. With a laugh, she grabs my hand and we duck behind the boulder so I can change into a small, flirty red dress. It’s a Versace that Elise saved up for, and we handle it reverently. After clipping it in the back—everything’s big on my petite frame—Elise gives me a long filmy scarf that flutters in the breeze.
West’s expression when he sees me is disappointingly blank. I guess I’d been hoping for a dropped jaw or something—anything to show he’s not indifferent to me. Ever since he kissed me in his cabin, he’s kept me at arm’s length. We’re friends, and that’s great, but I’ve been thinking a lot about what Elise said a couple weeks ago, and I’m not sure I’m content with ‘just friends’.
But West looks about as interested in me as he is in anything he photographs. Maybe less. I think he got more excited about the sea turtles we came across last week.
Sea Turtles – 1. Yasmin – 0.
We go through a few costume changes, and then I decide I want a couple pictures with Elise. In our swimsuits, we head out to the rock I first started on.
“How should we pose?” I ask. “You’re the posing guru.”
“Let’s jump in the water!” She grins at me. “He can catch us in mid-air.”
“Awesome,” I agree, and glance at West where he stands on the shore, ten feet away. He’s turned toward us, but is staring out to sea, as if he doesn’t see us at all.
“Earth to West,” I call. “We’re going to jump in.”
With Every Breath (Sea Swept #2) Page 12