by Luke Steel
She tilts her chin and pushes off the bar to glide our way, drawing male eyes along in her wake.
Havana drops a kiss in the air near Richard’s left cheek and takes the only open seat, next to me, of course.
“This is our cruise director and also my lovely niece,” Richard tells the group.
“So, Havana, we have you to thank for the smooth check-in?” Emily’s smooth face still lacks expression, so I chalk it up to Botox.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it so far,” Havana says. Her smooth voice holds this hint of laughter that makes it sound like music. “Jet and I are going to sweep you all off your feet—and into the day spa.” Everyone chuckles.
Viv’s husband Gabe leans beefy forearms on the table. Something about the way he looks at Havana makes me bristle.
“So, Jet, you what, run a hotel? I’m sure Viv told me all about it, but I can’t promise I was listening.”
“You could say that.” I grin, amused by his clumsy alpha move. “I’m CEO of Encompass Regency Hotels.”
“You get a chance to play much golf? I bet you kick back at all those resorts, right?”
“You’d think, but I tend to keep busy. Golf was never really my game.” I wink at Viv, and Gabe scowls. “But I do like to travel. We’ve got a few out of the way, niche hotels in some unexpected places. Sometimes I just really need to inspect those in person.”
Evan takes a sip of his beer, leans back in his chair, and crosses one foot over the other knee. Brown dock shoes to go with his khaki shorts and oxford shirt. I can’t decide if he’s as vanilla ice cream as he looks, or if he’s just wearing the uniform. Either way, he’s one of the people I need to impress, so I keep the bland smile on my face and keep chatting.
“Unexpected places usually means stuff like cows in the streets,” Richard says. “No thanks for me.” Jenny giggles, a high-pitched tinkling sound.
“You’d be surprised. Some people are willing to trade cows in the street for Eastern style pampering. It’s another level altogether.”
Evan raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Sounds shady to me. I don’t see the appeal of this off-the-beaten path kind of thing. I like a smooth path. I want to know they know what they’re doing and I’m not going to get robbed or killed by third world bandits.”
“Oh, our smaller destinations are quite safe. Believe it or not, you can have privacy and safety at the same time.” I lean back, opening my posture and mimicking his. “Does that mean you’ll be sticking to the golf course instead of the rain forest zipline?”
Emily and Evan both chuckle primly, sharing a restrained glance.
“Please,” Gabe says. “Nobody’s got anything on Americans for luxury. We know how to do things right.”
Havana leans forward. “You can get a taste on the cruise. This ship is one of the only American cruise ships with a Korean day spa. If you haven’t been exfoliated, steamed, and moisturized by the end of this trip, you’ll have wasted the opportunity.”
Then Havana shifts, and I get a view straight down the front of her dress. My mouth goes dry with sudden, piercing thirst. As if she read my thoughts, Havana shoots me an evil grin and props both elbows on the table in front of her. I barely suppress a moan at the view of creamy flesh, pushed into tantalizing mounds and framed with the hint of lace. My balls tighten and ache, and I remember how she looked in the cabin, how her deep pink nipples hardened when they brushed against my chest. How easily I could push the lace aside with my thumb and bare those beautiful tits. The conversation goes on around us, talk of far-flung places and sailing and leisure, and I’m struggling to find my tongue again.
“Jet, are there any golf courses nearby on this trip? Gabe and I might want to shoot a round while the women take a shopping day or trek through the rainforest or something.” Richard’s question pulls me into the present with blunt force.
I shift my eyes desperately to Gabe’s hairy arms to distract myself. That moment of sexual tension in Havana’s cabin is biting me in the ass right now, when I can least afford to lose focus.
I clear my throat. “Yes, in fact. There’s a world-class course near the port call on day six, and ERH happens to have membership rights for guests there. We let them know some might be required.” I jump at the chance to show off one of our actual properties.
“And in the meantime, you two can practice your swing in the simulators, your putting at the onboard greens, and if you like, the onboard golf pro is available for individual coaching,” Havana supplies.
I could kiss her. Everywhere.
Evan joins the golf talk, and they discuss courses they’ve played, handicaps, and charity tournaments. Viv and Emily discuss some mutual acquaintance, and Havana whispers into the ear of a waiter she’s pulled aside. He nods and trots off to grab a tray of drinks.
Jenny sits across from me, momentarily forlorn as she twists a lock of hair around a finger.
“Jenny, we gave the ship the order for gluten free meals for you. Did the room service menu reflect that?” Talk to a skinny woman about her diet, and you’ll be there all day.
She rewards me with a relieved smile and we chat about gluten-free and paleo diets. She’s a yoga instructor, ballroom dancer, and minor Instagram celebrity. Richard settles an arm possessively around her, but keeps his attention on the men. I don’t know what to make of Richard’s moodiness. All of our previous meetings have been by the book.
I check my watch, and the action has all the others glancing at their wrists as well, a sort of executive reflex.
“Why don’t we all move toward the dining room for lunch?” I nudge Havana.
Chairs at our table scrape against the deck, drawing the attention of the rest of the group. They all begin to move toward the door in little clumps. Havana shoves her chair out and stands, but when she turns to step toward the door, her foot catches in the chair.
Her hand flies wide, catching me on the cheek with a smack, and then she falls forward, landing squarely across my lap. Jesus Christ. It’s like the ocean gods presented her ass to me on a golden platter. My hands hover in the air—there’s no safe place to put them. Her breasts press against my leg, and the desire that had started to fade floods my system. She freezes, and I know she feels my dick, rock hard against her soft stomach.
My hands nearly tingle with the urge to touch her. To run a hand over that gloriously accessible ass. Maybe spank it with a light pop that would make her call my name. Fuck. She looks up at me with wide eyes, pink staining her cheeks. Her lips part, her fuller bottom lip rounding to an “oh.” I want to kiss her, draw out that “oh” to a throaty moan of pleasure. Her utter surprise leaves her vulnerable, so unlike the serious, unflappable woman I met. So different from the woman who flirted back when I walked in on her undressed.
The contradiction thrills me. For one still, silent moment, I see her as both women, the driven professional and the breathy ingénue. And both of them turn me on.
The spell breaks as sounds crowd around us. Murmurs of concern from the other women, some chuckles from onlookers.
She lowers her tantalizing bum and tries to find somewhere to brace her hands. “Shit,” she mutters. “I’m so sorry, Jet.”
As her ear passes my lips, I whisper, “I’m not.”
Her eyes cut to me, the innocent surprise replaced by mischief. First I can’t control my lust, and now I can’t control my mouth. That was out of line, Jet. But the smile tugging one corner of her mouth obliterates my regret.
She apologizes again, louder and more confident this time.
Richard frowns. “Are you okay, Havana?”
“Thanks, Richard. Just haven’t gotten my sea legs yet, I guess.” She laughs off the fall, but Richard is the only one not smiling.
It’s a good reminder. Richard controls this deal, and I need his approval. I definitely won’t get it by sleeping with his niece. We’re going to all be nearly on top of each other on this cruise, so if I’m tempted to literally be on top of his niece, the chances of
escaping detection are pretty slim. Fuck, I’m two hours in and teetering on the edge of tanking the deal I’ve been working toward for the better part of a year. Hell no, I’m not going to risk it for a tumble. Eastward Hotels would be there in a hot second if I made that kind of mistake.
How hard would it be, though? Richard will be drunk on cruise liquor and the younger woman sharing his stateroom. The object of this entire experiment is a good time. As long as he and his people get their full-service pampering, as long as I keep them happy, they’re not going to look too closely behind the curtain. Havana gave me plenty of go signals, so Richard’s disapproval is the only obstacle. And if he never knows … there’s no reason Havana and I can’t blow off some steam.
Any obstacle is temporary if you have brains and guts. As it happens, I’ve got both. I can score this partnership and enjoy Havana Skye, because I always get what I want. And as much as I want this deal, I want her, too.
Chapter Three
Our little cohort disperses after lunch. As I walk through the atrium, I spot several of our group conferring over schedules or hurrying off to some activity. Lunch was flawless. World class flavors, not too heavy, impeccable service. Jenny’s plate was free of gluten, and even Richard relaxed with a brightly colored cocktail sporting a classic drink umbrella.
I pass the tall windows, cruise passengers milling around me with first-day-at-sea excitement. Couples stroll by hand in hand, and a great migration of women in bathing suits and loose cover-up garments moves toward the swimming pools. I enter the cool dimness of the main hallway, intending to find a quiet spot near the rear of the ship to check email.
“Jet!”
The hair on my neck rises with electric awareness. Behind me, Havana strides my way with a tablet tucked under her arm and business on her face.
She catches up, and a light floral scent carries toward me. The perfect scent for her, natural but seductive.
“I’m glad I found you,” she says. “Almost everyone made it to lunch, and I checked on the no-shows. Sleeping off the pre-cruise drinks, both of them.”
She taps at the tablet’s screen and leans in, holding it out for me to see. When I lean into her space, she tenses. Have I misread her signals?
“I wanted to show you the rest of the day’s itinerary. I’ll be double checking arrangements for the reception and dinner after this, but want to make sure we stay on the same page.”
My fingers brush hers as I free the tablet from her grip. The hitch in her breath is tiny, but it’s there.
“Dinner is black tie in ballroom B, with a reception just before.” Our eyes meet and hers are warm. There might be a hint of something more in them. “I’ve spoken personally with every guest, as noted here on this list, and made sure everyone has evening wear.”
Next to me, her body remains stiff as she talks. The tablet is a useless prop—she holds it between us as a buffer, something for us both to focus on. All my instincts say I was following the right trail. She’s trying to keep it professional, but the heat between us is insistent. I feel it now in the tightness of my balls.
“And what will you be wearing?” I ask, before I can stop myself. All roads on this trip lead to Havana Skye’s body and what she does with it. I picture her in a clingy, red silk gown.
She makes a surprised sound, like the air going out of a slashed tire.
“I wasn’t—I mean, I’m not planning to attend that particular event,” she says. “Tomorrow is the first full day, so I’ve got lots to double check. We’ve got three meals and two snacks, and I’ve got to check with the kitchens, and then after that is the first excursion, and I’ve got a lot of paper work to check on for that, and of course—”
“I look forward to seeing you there,” I say. It’s not a question.
“Yes, but I don’t really have—”
“Whatever you need, use the company card I gave you. There’s a luxury apparel store, and I feel certain”—I look her over sternly—“they’ll have something to fit you.”
“Jet, I really need to stay on top of things,” she protests.
“Havana, this isn’t optional.” I tell myself this is good policy, not just the itch to see her dressed in something slinky. “I expect to see you there.”
She opens and closes her mouth, and then swallows.
“Then I will be there.” An uncertain smile lifts the corners of her lips, and she straightens her spine.
Her chest rises with shallow breaths, pulling my thoughts back to the place they’ve lingered all day—her perfect body. She’s flustered again, this blushing version of her replacing the business-minded professional. And damn, it turns me on. We’re still standing close, and I fight the urge to push her against the wall and find out how she tastes. If she keeps looking at me with that big-eyed stare, I might not resist.
“Thank you.” I hand over the tablet. “I appreciate all the work you’ve done so far. I fully expect the rest of the cruise to go as smoothly.”
I rest a hand gently on the small of her back, an intimate gesture that is only a fraction of what I want to do to her. Though tension is already etched on her face, she stiffens even more. I swallow a groan. If she’s this sensitive to my touch, I can only imagine the way her body would respond if I did the things I’m imagining. The thought leaves me stiff too, and I walk away before I do something foolish.
After dinner, the real party starts. Their bellies full of dishes designed by one of the most famous chefs in New York, thirty-four men and women group and regroup, their conversation animated by champagne and top-shelf cocktails. A few couples share clingy dances when the jazz trio plays something slow.
I lean against the bar and swirl the whiskey in my glass. The bartender eyes me hungrily, and it’s not just because I’m paying. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know the fit of my crisp Armani tux makes women look twice. Several of the female guests ogle me too as the liquor makes them braver and their paunchy spouses gather to talk golf and finance.
I’ve made my rounds of the room, shaking hands and taking credit for the successful first day, but something’s missing. Havana Skye, specifically. I need to be making small talk, charming the women drooling over my wide shoulders. Playing the gracious host is part of the job description, but I linger over my whisky at the bar, hoping it’ll lift my dark mood.
A change in the ambient sound of the room, a ripple of whispers, draws my eyes away from the sparkling amber liquor in my glass. At the center of the soft murmur, Havana floats into the room wearing a gown that fits like liquid silver. The metallic silk drapes softly at the neck, gleams over the curve of her waist, and pools at her feet. Her slim arms are bare, a single bracelet sparkling on one wrist. She stops to speak to a guest. As they greet each other with air kisses, I get the rear view. Her back is bare, and the dress clings to her fine ass like saran wrap.
The knot of tension in my chest loosens.
I knock back my drink and stride across the floor. She must feel my eyes on her, because she turns before I reach her. A dazzling smile lights her face, and I seem to find my swagger.
“Ladies, if I haven’t mentioned it, you look lovely this evening.” I speak to the group, but I press my palm against Havana’s bare back. She gives a tiny shiver, and a deep, aching need begins to throb in my balls.
“You look pretty sharp yourself, Mr. Flourish,” one of them says.
“Anna, right? Please call me Jet.” A flush stains her cheeks under an attractive spray of freckles.
“Aren’t you going to dance, Jet? Even the host is allowed to enjoy the party,” another woman says.
“Maybe a little later. Save one for me?” I wink. “Excuse me, ladies. I believe our cruise director here must be parched.”
I usher a bemused Havana toward the bar. The paunchy spouses are now watching us too, because Havana looks like walking sex. She sways gently as she crosses the room, that ass hypnotizing every male within sight.
“I approve whole heartedly of your choice, Ms
. Skye. You look stunning.”
“Thank you, Mr. Flourish.” She takes a glass of champagne from the bartender and sips it. “I believe the ladies are in agreement that you look nice as well.”
“Nice?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“Quite nice,” she confirms with a grin.
Viv and Gabe join us to refresh their drinks. The influence of the alcohol or Havana loosens my tongue, and we find ourselves in a large circle of laughing, chatting guests. The party buzzes louder as people drink more.
A few of our guests disappear and return with other cruise passengers. I don’t begrudge them the company, because guests who get laid on a luxury cruise are happy guests. And I want them happy. More couples crowd onto the dance floor, and I do my duty. I dance with redheaded Anna, Viv Ferrera, and a few other women. One frumpy-looking matron gets handsy, and I see Havana biting her lip to contain a smile as I wrangle the wandering hands as politely as possible.
For the better part of an hour, we circulate separately around the room. But an awareness follows me, and I always know where she is. Who she’s talking to. When we meet again at the bar, she’s more relaxed than I’ve seen her yet.
“A successful party, I think.” I raise my tumbler of whisky. “Congratulations, Havana.”
“And to you, Jet.” She raises a fresh glass of champagne in response. “Only thirteen more of these to go.”
I set my glass on the bar.
“And I’ve waited long enough for a dance. Shall we?”
She sips her champagne and inclines her head. I take her raised hand and lead her to the parquet dance floor. I pull her to me, take her other hand, and settle my right palm in the small of her back. Her skin is warm, and the contact sends warm tingles up my wrist.
And then cool air rushes between us as Havana steps back, looking over my shoulder. Richard taps me and scowls, but his voice is smooth.
“Jet, please allow me to have this dance with my lovely niece.”
I jerk my hand back and smile through my annoyance. “Of course. I think I’m due for a little breather anyway.”