Sunset Sail

by Shannyn Leah

“Are you going back to Grayson’s cabin for some mind-blowing, headboard slamming, sex?” Izzy yelled back.

  Abby jabbed Izzy in the gut and Izzy cried out in fake pain before they both busted into hysterical laughter.

  “I’m going back to my cabin,” Emma said. “My cabin,” she clarified.

  “Sure you are. Where’s Grayson?” Abby asked, standing on tip-toes to glance above the dancers.

  Talking to some hot black-haired woman who obviously knows him...very well.

  Emma shrugged.

  “Waiting for you back at his cabin?” Melissa teased, coming up behind her.

  When had Melissa become such a party girl? Apparently these cruises brought out of character behavior from everyone.

  Izzy whistled her approval. “Oh snap. Point for Melissa.”

  When Melissa declined joining Emma, she said goodnight and weaved her way off the dance floor, out the door and away from the flashing lights and loud music. The quiet, bright hallway slapped her senses awake, cold and firm, like the actuality of the real Grayson Cohen.

  She started toward her cabin.

  Why was she running away? She should have stayed and danced with the girls, had a good time despite Grayson’s new friend. That was why she’d gone to the club in the first place and somehow ending up spending most of the night with Grayson...and enjoying herself. It wasn’t like she liked him−she could hardly stand him−then what was bothering her?

  “Emma?”

  Emma’s step stumbled at the sound of Grayson running up behind her. She needed space, away from him, to clear her scattered mind.

  Why was he chasing her down when he had a sexy woman to spend the rest of his evening with? A woman who would no doubt give him what he wanted: sex. Something he didn’t expect from Emma anyway...or did he? It was confusing. He was confusing.

  “Hey, I thought we made a deal, a drink for a dance,” he said, stepping beside her and slowing to her pace.

  Emma glanced at him, no doubt her confusion written plainly across her face. “I’m tired,” she lied.

  “You’re tired?” He didn’t believe her.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not tired,” he said, in a know-it-all, overconfident way that infuriated her. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know a damn thing about her and from the way he flirted at the bar, it was clear that he didn’t want to.

  “What happened? I thought we were having a good time in there,” Grayson said.

  He was having a good time picking up other women.

  Emma stopped before they reached the piazza. It wasn’t filled as it was during the busy hours during the day, but she could still see a steady stream of people and she didn’t want to make a scene.

  She turned to face Grayson, finding bewilderment where his regular condescending expression usually resided, which, in turn, confused Emma.

  “Do you not know the definition of tired?” she snapped.

  The bewilderment vanished and his smugness returned. Why did everything amuse him? Why was there always on smile on his face, even when the situation didn’t call for a smile?

  “I may have lacked high grades in school, but I did pass. So, yes, I know the definition of tired. And, you, my darlin’ are not tired,” he said.

  “You didn’t lack high grades in school, you were lazy, partying and didn’t care about getting high grades. There is a difference.”

  “Thank you for the clarification of that definition.”

  “And, you, my darlin’,” she mimicked his egotistical tone. “Don’t get to go making assumptions about me, as if you know me. You haven’t done the homework Grayson.”

  Bitterness clouded over the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “I haven’t done my homework?”

  Was he deaf too?

  “I’ve watched you from afar for years. Hiding, running away−”

  “It’s better than falling into the depths of a one-night stand with you,” Emma said. “I realize I might have given you a look or two tonight, but even if you had made a move, I won’t sleep with you.”

  His eyes turned a deep, smoky shade of emerald. “You’re right, we’re not close enough to assume we know each other. That line of bullshit out of your mouth only comes from people who don’t know me. Clearly ‘friends’ isn’t in the cards for us.”

  “What are you saying? You don’t sleep around?” She found that impossible to believe.

  “Not more than any single guy.”

  “What type of singly guy are you referring to? A normal single guy or your dad?” She knew her mistake the second the words left her lips. Their families were merging companies and she had just called his dad a manwhore. Lord, she needed to get a grip before she ruined this deal and gave her family a bad reputation in the business world.

  Insulting Grayson was one thing, they’d been doing it their whole lives, but dragging his father in, and in such a disrespectful manner, was improper. It would no doubt stem “that look” from Marc. Oh, how she hated that look.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, holding her hands over her lips in vain attempt to avoid any more business-ending outbursts.

  He held his hands up and took a step back. “You’re only saying now what you don’t have the nerve to say when you’re sober.”

  “Grayson, I’m not drunk. Barely buzzed. I know the difference and I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Because you don’t believe it or because it’s not appropriate?”

  Emma bit her lower lip, unable to lie and not daring to tell the truth.

  “Rain cheque on the water and dance.” He stormed past her, the smell of his cologne making her stomach flip.

  Settle down, you’ve botched everything up now.

  Emma didn’t even debate what that thought meant like he would ever sleep with her anyway.

  She needed coffee, a Tylenol and her bed.

  Chapter Nine

  EMMA STOOD WITH her ear against the wall dividing her cabin from Grayson’s, straining to listen. It made her feel like her niece and nephew, Sophia and Parker, when they played spy games. They would unquestionably love their aunt’s skills.

  Did pressing a glass against the wall for better hearing actually work? Or should she stay put so she didn’t miss anything? She debated abandoning her post for a quick sprint to the cupboard. Parker and Sophia would know the answer.

  Emma strained her ears. Was that a door she’d just heard? Was it his door? Had he invited the woman from the bar to his room for a late night rendezvous?

  The black-haired lady had looked like a bundle of seductress trouble. Emma didn’t even know how to be seductive, let alone know how to make trouble, that was a foreign language to her.

  Grayson, however, was used to a certain type of woman. Women who wanted to use him and women who liked being used. Emma had none of those qualities and she certainly wasn’t looking to adapt them for one night with Grayson.

  Then why was she spying on against this wall? Why did seeing Grayson with the black-haired woman, in the middle of what he did best, flirting, make her so...head-stupid?

  Oh no.

  This man made her head-stupid.

  Emma backed away from the wall, like its touch had burned. Melissa’s voice tormented and mocked her. For a long time, Emma stared at the wall like it was in the wrong.

  She was beyond head-stupid. She was acting like a hormonal sixteen-year-old stuck in an adult’s body. She was a well-established, brilliant, and focused woman, who had her life together. She knew what she wanted and Grayson Cohen wasn’t the man to fill the bill.

  Then what was she doing?

  Emma took three more steps back and felt her stomach lurch. The alcohol mad for an easy target to blame, but it didn’t change the fact she was wishing she’d invited Grayson into her cabin. She wished his lips were against hers and his hands were tearing off this dress. Those weren’t feelings that a little alcohol induced. They were feelings she’d been ignoring for longer than she could remember. And, since she
was being honest with herself, she couldn’t help but wonder if this little crush was responsible for more than a little jealousy...like the root of her relationship status...or lack thereof.

  Emma didn’t know if it was the alcohol or how disgusted she was with herself, but she ended up hovering above the toilet, swearing never to sip the toxic fluid again.

  When she’d purged herself of both her feelings and the alcohol, she sat on the floor, back against wall and pulled her knees tight against her stomach. She pushed her fingers through her bangs, closed her eyes and rested her head on her knees and let out a long, painful groan.

  There should be a more pressing matter consuming her thoughts: how to mend the insult against Brock. Perhaps Brock was next door and Grayson was filling him in on her offensive remark, which would be the end of the merging.

  She could see Marc’s disapproving look already, solely fixed on her while he sorted out the right words to say. In a way, disappointing Marc was far worse than disappointing their father. At least with Marc, you could understand where he was coming from especially this time. This was a mess she could only pray she’d be able to fix before they docked.

  Mortified, and grateful no one was around to witness her moment of idiocy, Emma stood, unzipped her dress and climbed the stairs to the loft. She needed to permanently eliminate Grayson from her intimate thoughts. She would only allow professional, business-minded views of him to knit in her head from now on, starting with a plan to repair tonight’s careless exchange. But first, she needed to get out of this restricting dress. She discarded the dress and bra on the bed, and headed into the closet in search of something light and loose.

  Her closet still hadn’t recovered from the night before and tonight’s preparation for dinner had more outfits strewn about in every direction. She would clean it tomorrow, after she talked to Grayson.

  Slipping on a cream cotton dress, she twisted the spaghetti straps into place and took a deep, relaxing breath.

  Barefooted, Emma stopped at the railing of the loft. The hem of the long dress tickled her feet. Staring across the open space at the wall where she’d been attempting to play Inspector Gadget, she was disappointed to find her thoughts hadn’t wavered much.

  Was he lying in bed now with the same silky sheets? Naked? Alone?

  Stop this.

  Downstairs, Emma poured a glass of water and took it outside onto the balcony.

  It was a beautiful evening. The half moon hung brightly in the sky, casting dazzling light over the rippling water. If she closed her eyes, some of the sounds reminded her of home: the water, night, and nature.

  The sea breeze refreshed her mind. After a solid night’s sleep, she would be left with a clear mind in which to assemble the proper way to go about her groveling. After she finished that, she refused to allow herself to get caught up in the world of Grayson again. They were so different, but in many ways they were exactly the same. “Emotionally unattached” came to her mind−each with their own reasons, although he flaunted his enjoyment for women, whereas she kept her single status clean.

  When was the last time she dated or was even in a serious relationship?

  If she thought back, the last time would have been years ago. She’d been asked out plenty−she was a Caliendo. But it was all too easy to compare her dull feelings for the men she dated, or their self-righteous ways with her parent’s marriage. Eliza and Robert’s union had been a cold one, almost like an arranged marriage. Even if her mother claimed their love hadn’t started that way, it sure had ended like that. Emma very aware that she didn’t want to be married to a man who thought he was better than her or believed his financial status trumped hers. Emma knew her wealth was threatening to men−more than one of her relationships had broken as a result of her finances. It was a cold reality, but Emma refused to end up in a loveless marriage, exposing children to the constant battle between parents. This left her comfortably single, and guardedly judgemental of men...including Grayson and Brock.

  Brock.

  She rubbed her eyes and let out a deep breath, remembering again her words to Grayson about his father.

  Judgemental on her own time was fine, but doing so on work time was unacceptable.

  Emma drank the rest of her water and rested her arms on the railing.

  How was she going to fix this? The question plagued her, until she heard the sliding door from the balcony beside her open.

  Emma froze.

  Was it right beside her? Grayson’s balcony? A different neighbour? Below or up? Why hadn’t she gone directly to bed?

  Emma stepped away from the railing, and listened. At the sound of footsteps, she stepped further away. She didn’t want Grayson to lean over and catch her...doing what...looking at the water? She wasn’t spying this time, and had every right to be on her balcony, but she felt as guilty as a criminal.

  She continued to creep backwards into the shadows.

  Should she apologize? Or give him the night to cool down?

  A cork broke free from the neck of a wine bottle and Emma gasped, covering her mouth with her free hand.

  Was he opening it for someone else? Of course he was. He wasn’t drinking by himself. The black-haired lady.

  Emma needed to get in the cabin, but her feet continued backwards, away from the door of solitude.

  Where were all her unstable feelings about Grayson coming from? For a woman who could meet a man, judge him in less than five seconds, and forget she’d ever met him, all her negative conclusions about Grayson weren’t following the same procedure.

  It was clear Grayson liked the ladies. After all, it only took Emma one night of dancing to almost fall for his charms too. But after all these years of disgustedly looking at him? What had changed?

  Emma shook her head. This was crazy.

  “Hey, I’m having a drink on my balcony, if you would like to pop in.” His muffled voice was almost unrecognizable. “I’m staying in for the rest of the night.”

  Another silent gasp from Emma. He was inviting the black-haired woman to his cabin.

  Emma’s heart stopped. She swore it jumped overboard and headed back home to Willow Valley.

  But going back there wouldn’t help. Cupid was flying around her family’s suites, pointing and shooting his heart shaped arrows non-stop at all of them. All of them except Emma.

  Since the moment Eliza and Uncle Carl came forward with their secret love affair, her siblings had gone love hungry. It was almost disgusting how they were falling all googly-eyed over the opposite sex.

  What was she doing right now?

  It wasn’t the same. There was no future for her with Grayson and she was clearly suffering from a damaged arrow. Stupid cupid needed better aim. The arrow he shot at her must have broken before contact, because this was a helluva a disaster lusting over a ladies’ man.

  Emma’s foot caught on the lounger behind her, throwing her off balance and sending her flying backwards. Her scream sounded in tune with her drinking glass smashing on the deck.

  Pain shot through her lower back and shoulders, as she landed the wrong direction on the lounger. The plastic sides played slap shot with her body.

  Ouch.

  “Emma?”

  It was Grayson.

  She stilled.

  “What happened? Are you alright?” he asked.

  Bruised ego. Bruised back. Darn cupid.

  “I’m okay,” she managed to say, in a half convincing tone. An instant headache rushed to her head, which hung off one side of the lounger. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the heels of her feet on the edge of the lounger to prop up her sore back.

  Busted eavesdropping. Overboard heart. Beautiful friggin’ evening.

  Emma heard commotion and hoped it was Grayson’s evening dessert special walking onto his balcony to distract him.

  She propped her arms up and opened her eyes to curse cupid for such a dreadful evening. It all had started with that darn red dress.

  She blinked at the si
ght of Grayson on her side of the balcony.

  Did he climb over?

  The thought was minimal as she took in his body. He’d discarded his jacket, his dress shirt was now unbuttoned from top to bottom, and his six-pack played peek-a-boo with her eyes. His ruffled hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it a few times. He looked deliciously sexy.

  No!

  Those were the exact thoughts she couldn’t afford to have around him. He needed to be gone. This close proximity was threatening to her self-control.

  “I’m okay,” she reassured him.

  She stood up.

  “Emma, the glass!” Grayson yelled, but it was too late. Her bare foot stepped on the shattered glass sending her back on her ass and in even more pain.

  Emma sucked in a painfully, irritated breath.

  Head-stupid.

  Grayson crossed the deck, still wearing his shoes−what a smart move. He crouched down beside her and his spicy cologne fogged her mind, giving him the opening to wrap one arm under her knees. In the process, he dragged the back of her dress up the length of her leg, hardly noticeable, except it was followed with his bare skin trailing a tingling path wherever he touched.

  When his other arm went around her back, Emma stilled like he’d stamped her with a hot iron.

  He was close. Too close.

  His torso was against her side and the pain of her foot vanished, along with her good sense.

  “What are you doing?” she rasped.

  What did she think−hope−he was doing? Scooping her up and carrying her to bed, making her his nighttime dessert? Whipped cream and strawberries came to mind.

  The image of licking whipped cream made its way into her head when he said, “We have to see if there’s any glass in your foot to determine whether you need to see the cruise doctor. There’s not enough light out here.”

  Her foot?

  The reminder brought back the stinging. Emma could feel glass had pierced her skin, whether or not any pieces remained.

  Could she manage to get to the cruise doctor’s office alone? She could send him away and figure this out on her own.

  “I’m going to carry you inside,” Grayson said.