Docked (4 page)

“Better?”

“Much.” I step forward and turn around to face him, finding him watching me intently. “Is something wrong?”

His brows shoot up and he shakes his head as if waking from a daze. “Nothing at all. I’m just curious…”

“Go ahead, what is it?”

He runs his thumb across his lip, then leans to rest on the railing. “Is it true you’re afraid of the ocean?”

A cold, icy sheet of discomfort wraps around me like a blanket, but I answer honestly. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. There was an incident a few months back. It shook me up pretty good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m here,” I say matter-of-factly, gesturing to our surroundings. “That’s all that matters, I guess.”

“Is it?” Tanner chews his lip as he searches my expression. For what, I don’t know. But it gives me a chance to get a closer look at those deep, sapphire eyes. They ensnare me, especially being this close. I see how his girlfriend easily gets lost in them. “Sometimes I think it’s about more than just going through the motions. More than just confronting the fear. I think we have to believe we’re strong enough. Have to feel it, deep, deep down. Otherwise we’re just enduring, just existing, instead of living.” Haunted, earnest contemplation washes over his face, and I’m rooted where I stand, searching for a response. “Sorry,” he laughs, dropping his hand from the railing. “Don’t know where that came from.”

“Don’t be,” I say quietly, watching as he shifts his weight. His baby blue tie hangs comfortably over his crisp shirt, which is no longer rolled up at the elbows. Every part of him is hard and defined, graceful and sleek. Even his forearms are distracting.

I drag my gaze away from his physique.

“Well, you’re right. I hope by the time I step off this ship, I’ll be strong enough because I believe I am.”

“You’re certainly strong, choosing to come aboard. I hope the experience exceeds your expectations.”

“It already has.”

A mega-watt grin spreads across his face like wild fire and his chin lifts, revealing a proud, pleased demeanor. I’m taken with his confidence. It’s subtly cocky, which is usually a major turnoff for me, but it looks damned good on Mr. Blue Eyes.

“So.” I wrap his suit jacket tighter around my waist, snuggling in its warmth. It smells like mint. “I hope your offer to give us this tour isn’t interfering with your plans this evening. With your girlfriend, I mean.”

He scratches just beneath his ear, a short huff of amusement escaping him. “No need to worry about that. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. The woman…she’s not my girlfriend. This is so…this is awkward again, isn’t it?”

“And unprofessional.” I grin, enjoying that for once, the tables are turned and I’m no longer the one swimming in discomfort. I let him squirm for a minute before letting him off the hook. “Mr. Christensen—”

“Please, call me Tanner.”

“Okay. Tanner. I’m joking. It’s fine, really.”

That cool smile graces his face again. “This won’t wind up in your feature, will it? All of this is officially off the record, I hope?”

“Of course it is. I’m a woman of my word.” I extend my hand for a playful shake and he accepts, once again swallowing mine in his strong warmth. He smoothes his thumb over my knuckle, and a light rasp shuttles from my lips at the touch.

“Good,” he says, not letting go, “we’ll be good friends, then.” My hand lingers in his for a second more before I pull away, stepping back from his heady, fresh mint scent. It’s already caressing me, while I’m wrapped in his jacket, but standing so close to him only intensifies the intoxicating aroma.

“Friends,” I agree, with a resolute shake of my head.

“Now, shall we find Lana? I believe it’s time for that tour…” He turns to lead me back to the lounge and I follow his stride, eyeing his self-assured gait. I make a note to myself to clobber Lana the second we find her, to make her pay for ditching me the way she did, but quickly retract that game plan when I realize I’m thankful I had a moment to speak with Mr. Blue Eyes. The awkwardness is over. The Trident Voyager is officially out to sea.

And I feel brave.

***

Once again, Lana turned flighty with the men she was leading on. After Tanner gave us a lengthy tour of the ship, we returned to the Marais Lounge only to wind up hanging out with an entirely new set of guys on the other side of the bar. Jonah didn’t stick around, and I didn’t blame him. The sun had gone down, the party had died off, and most of the crowd had dissipated since we left port. Now Lana is ready for round two, insisting I go back to the room with her to change for yet another outing.

“You heard what Tanner said,” she argues, holding the lounge door open. “The Bordeaux Room, Deck 8 Forward. That’s where we need to be.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Hey, I need to see the full menu before I order an entrée.” We head out into the hall and wait for the elevator, groaning in pure bliss as we pull off our heels. We stand there barefoot, leaning on one another’s shoulders.

“What about Tanner?” I ask.

“What about him?”

“You’ve been drooling over him since you laid eyes on him.” I keep what I saw in the hallway to myself, knowing Lana is only out for a good time. If she were interested in anything more serious, I’d never encourage her to go after a man like Tanner, who clearly fucks women but doesn’t date them.

“He’s gorgeous, I’ll give him that.”

“What? That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Lana Crawley?”

“That man isn’t my cuppa, sorry.”

“Okay, all that champagne must have gone to your head. There’s no way you’re thinking clearly.”

“I’d love a piece of that, don’t get me wrong. But he’s not interested in me. No use wasting time when there’s a whole boatload of delicious men hanging around. Besides, I doubt he’d make a move now that he knows I’m reviewing his ship.”

I bite my tongue and smile, stepping into the elevator as it opens with a shrill ding. An hour later, we’re primped and changed for the Bordeaux Room. Admittedly, I’m already exhausted from the day, but something about the cool night air as we step out onto the deck and Lana’s excited energy gives me a second wind, and all I want to do is dance my ass off and blow off some steam.

The Bordeaux Room is as chic as the rest of the ship, but has a modern, sensual edge. Dark red velvet couches with tufted arches line the walls, and sleek black leather armchairs are gathered in clusters around asymmetrical tables. The lighting is low, the foliage is lush, and the music is loud. Lana drags me out on the floor and begins dancing maniacally. I join her, throwing my hands up and shaking my hips from left to right. Lana spins me and I tug at my hair tie, letting my brown waves fall loose and free around my shoulders. We lose ourselves in song after song, until we’re both panting, sweaty messes.

“I need water,” Lana shouts, pointing above my head to the bar.

“Okay, me too.” I take her hand and maneuver us through the crowd. Tanner was right. This is Pick-Up Central. Especially for the ladies, who are apparently outnumbered in this club. I squeeze in at the bar and order us some water, bumping elbows with a man Lana recognizes from earlier, and in seconds, she’s yapping away, chatting him up. I smirk as they get lost in conversation, sipping at my water and excusing myself to make my way across the dance floor. I fan myself when I reach the far wall. My hair is sticking to my forehead and a bead of sweat is trickling down my back, my body begging me for a breath of fresh air.

Sneaking out the main entrance, I slip away to the deck for a blast of cool air. Deck 8 is deserted, with the exception of a passerby going for a nighttime jog. I notice a sign next to the door that indicates this is the jogging deck, and that four laps around equates to one mile. I shiver as the cool air teases my skin, wondering how in the world anyone could exercise out here at this time of night. The wind is merciless.

Nothing but a bleak, stark horizon greets me over the deck railing. The low rumbling of churning, dark waves tumbles below, and I inhale deeply, reaching out to grip the smooth wood railing. My throat tightens and my heart begins to race. Seeing the ocean at night like this is even more terrifying than seeing it when we left port, but an inner turmoil prods me on, forcing me to step forward, closer and closer. It’s a troubling sensation, absorbing the tranquility of the waves and the luminescent moonlight paired with the dismal horizon. I don’t know which perception to believe. The scene will either eat me up and spit me out or wrap me in its peace.

The tips of my black heels knock the bottom rail as I pull myself completely flush against the wood. I close my eyes and a sigh escapes me, reminding me I have a say over this right now. I do not have to fear what floats below me. I am a strong, confident woman. I control the fear, not the other way around.

I continue to give my thoughts power over the panic, whispering under my breath as I work to calm myself. The ship rocks slightly, throwing my balance off, but I latch on tighter to the rail and quickly catch my footing, resuming my easy, steady breathing. I count to ten and open my eyes, thrilled I’ve managed to hang on, to remain this close to the edge of the railing. Another small rock sends me tilting, knocking off my footing again, and a fierce gust of wind blasts me back. My hair billows around me, whipping at my face and neck, stirring my sense of direction. Disorientation takes root and my fingers turn ironclad on the railing. I scramble to tilt my head and wipe my hair away from my face with my shoulder. When my vision is restored and I look down, all I see is the brooding roll of the ocean.

My chest constricts.

The sight leaves me lightheaded, signaling it’s time for me to step away from the railing and to hightail it back inside to the Bordeaux Room, before the fear wins. I’ve pushed my bravery to its limits tonight, and while I’m grateful for the small victory, I have to challenge it in baby steps. I can’t press my luck.

I carefully begin to pry my fingers from the wood and move to step back, holding my arms out to steady myself, like I’m about to attempt a crazy front flip. The ship rolls to the side again and I stumble back. A flash of skin and the soft whirl of a breeze pass behind me, and I spin fast to avoid smacking into the passerby.

Too late.

“Shit!” A shirtless, taut, sweaty body smacks into me, halting in its tracks at the impact. “I’m so sorry—”

“Are you okay?”

“Mr. Christensen,” I breathe, gripping his arms. He’s tugging his earbuds from his ears, looking down in concern. His brows are pulled together, droplets of sweat rippling over his forehead, and his lips…damn, his lips. They’re full and glistening with the sheen of his sweat.

“Tanner.”

“Tanner,” I repeat, not letting go of him. He hasn’t let go either. His hands are a vice grip on my waist, the pads of his fingers pressing hard into my hipbones. Their heat sizzles over the cotton of my pale pink dress. His scent slams into me with another gust of wind from the ocean, and I look up, meeting his sapphire gaze. His tall, muscular frame takes up all of the space, shutting everything else out. It’s smothering, but I’m ensnared, unable to pry myself away. If this is what it feels like to be this close to this man, no wonder his brunette girlfriend—or plaything—has trouble saying no to him in public places. Hell, he could tell me to jump and I’d say
how high
.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, eyes scanning me from left to right, head to toe. “I was lost in my music. I apologize.”

“I’m fine,” I release a nervous laugh, “it was my fault.” With a little shake of my head, I muster up the sense to release his arms. I shift to step back, but he holds me in place, his fingers stone on my hips.

“You’re sure.”

“Yes, absolutely. I just had a—” I stutter, glancing around for a lifeline. I have none. I have no excuse other than the fear won this round. “I just had a…moment. It was nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. You’re shaking. Maybe you should sit down.” He flexes his grip on my waist and smoothes his hands around to my lower back, working to steady me. My gaze lands on his hard, bare abdomen, and I’m assaulted with chiseled rows of muscle that are no doubt a product of his nightly jogging regimen. My cheeks flame and I instantly feel like that stupid broad in a romance novel who blushes at every turn. That’s what I get for reading all of those lame romance novels in high school, and unfortunately Tanner Christensen is the type of man who brings about that damned habit.

I summon the will to step back and this time Tanner relents, carefully releasing me. He glances around, relaxing his hands on his hips.

“Do you always go wandering around alone at midnight?” A little smirk creeps up, and a hard jolt of wind rustles his golden blonde hair.

“Do you always jog half naked in freezing cold weather?”

His brow arches and the smirk grows. “Freezing cold? I think that’s a bit exaggerated, don’t you?”

“Okay, well it is damned cold this time of night.”

“True. And I am half naked.” That cocky undertone I sensed before surfaces, and I can’t help but smile.

The faint tap of footsteps approaches, another jogger passing by with a quick wave. Tanner and I wave back.