Page 41 of Caribbean Crush

I brace myself before I meet his gaze, proud that I manage to do it so confidently. You’d never know my hands were fisted in my lap. My heels bouncing against the floor.

“Surely, we’re on a first-name basis by now? I can’t go around calling you Mr. Woodmont.”

“Casey,” he amends with humor in his gaze.

My name rolls off his tongue, and it’s like he just said the most taboo thing my ears have ever heard—that’s how swiftly my body reacts.

He looks me over as if after only three days of being together, he can already tell the subtle differences in my appearance tonight. He can’t see much of my slinky gold dress, but the rest of me still captures his interest. My golden eye makeup, my striking red lips.

“I see the ladies’ spa afternoon treated you well.”

“It did. You’ve employed wonderful people. Brigitta, Ana—oh my god, Viktor. They’re very good at what they do. I’d spend my entire ten days in the spa if I could.”

He smiles, pleased with my compliments of his staff. It’s clear he takes pride in the crew on board Aurelia, and I have no doubt they’re compensated well for all their hard work. Every staff member I’ve encountered seems eager and grateful for their position with Woodmont Overseas.

“Did you have a hand in hiring them?”

“I review every last employee file, from the captain down to the most junior crew member.”

“Nothing gets by you.”

“Nothing.”

I don’t know if he realizes his gaze is lingering on my lips. I brush them together and then offer one last smile before turning back. A lyrical song is beginning to play as the lights dim. The heavy black curtains rise as a group of dancers take the stage. I realize quickly that this is a modern dance performance rather than a traditional ballet or opera. Each dancer wears elaborate costumes and heavy makeup—transforming them into various wild animals found deep in the jungle. A tiger, a cheetah, a green shimmering snake. I’m transfixed by their movements; the passion and pageantry of the show are almost enough to take my mind off the man sitting behind me.

Throughout the performance, I feel his attention on me as if I were one of the dancers on stage. Having him directly behind me makes it so I can’t fully relax in my seat. It’s like I have one of these jungle predators at my back. At any moment, he’ll strike, and I have to be ready. I sit pin straight, my gaze focused intently on the stage. I don’t want to be seen talking or disrupting the performance, not while he’s there ready to grade me on my decorum.

My hair is down and curled by his expert stylist in the salon. I feel it slip over the back of the chair. I shiver, and Sienna sees.

“Want my coat?” she whispers quietly.

I shake my head and keep my attention up onstage.

Phillip shifts in his seat, and I hold my breath.

I’m not some big dummy who doesn’t understand the nuances of sexual attraction. It’s very obvious that I’m painfully attracted to Phillip. Though becoming aware of that and deciding what to do about it are two different things. I’ve established that it’s inappropriate to feel this way. I could land in hot water with Gwen if I pursued Phillip in that way—though would I really? Gwen’s never been all that prudish. If I were able to secure an interview with Phillip by any means possible, would she even care? In fact, she might be a little impressed by my willingness to go the extra mile. Or perhaps that’s just the champagne talking. They’ve passed around more. I’m on the last sip of my second glass, and I know I’m going down a dangerous path, but my hand keeps lifting the glass to my mouth despite the dull warnings in the back of my mind.

The performance is magical and captivating. I try to remember as much of it as possible so I can jot down notes when I get back to my suite, though truly, my mind is mostly preoccupied with Phillip. I’ve made my mind up about what I’ll do. It’s absolutely insane. My grandmother would get such a kick out of it. She’d hoot with laughter and cheer me on, especially if she knew the depth of my loneliness in the last year. The shell of a person I’ve become since her death. No wild nights. No romantic dates. Just life in its most basic form: rise, work, eat, exercise some, watch a few minutes of television, scroll online, lie awake until at some point my brain takes pity on me and lets me sleep. Each day is an exact replica of the day before. A carbon copy of boredom that’s become the status quo. I wonder if I should get a third glass of champagne.

I find Phillip in the observation lounge after the performance. It’s where everyone has gathered for more drinks. He’s speaking to Tyson and the captain, a booming, loud Scottish man with flaming-red hair. It’s wild of me to waltz right up to them and ask Phillip for a moment of his time, but as I’ve said, there’s nothing to lose. I’m at rock bottom. On the floor of the ocean. It’s me and all those weird blind fish slithering around in the depths with nowhere to go but up.

“Phillip, could I steal you away?”

All three men turn to me, surprise evident on their faces.

Phillip doesn’t agree right away, and his silence has me almost wanting to flee, but I’m here. I’ve done the hard thing, so I lift my chin and wait him out.

It’s Captain Neal who puts me out of my misery first. His thick red eyebrows shoot up, and he bellows a laugh. “You can steal me away, lass.”

He even holds his wrists together out in front of him as if begging to be led away in handcuffs.

Phillip shakes his head and steps forward, a private smile concealed as he dips his head for a moment. When his blue eyes lock with mine again, he motions for me to go ahead of him. I’m tempted to lead him to a quiet corner of the room, somewhere we won’t be overheard, but even that won’t do. We need absolute privacy for this conversation.

I loop past Sienna at the bar, glad to see she’s perched beside Javier, twisting a martini olive around the rim of her glass while she listens to him talk. Her chin is propped on her hand as she leans closer, completely enamored. I wonder if that’s customary for her or if he might be something special, unique in a way that Phillip is for me.

I’m surprised he doesn’t protest when I leave the room completely and walk out into the hall. It’s as deserted as I’d hoped it’d be. All the guests gathered in the observation lounge are deep in conversation or gambling at one of the tables set up in the back corner. The night is young, and I doubt anyone will bother us for the next few minutes. At least, I hope not.

Beside a small table tucked into a shallow alcove, I stop and turn, watching as Phillip reaches me. He carries a thick crystal glass holding the last remnants of a rich-amber liquor. He finishes it off before setting it down on the table, crossing his arms, and leaning ever so casually against the wall, obviously waiting for me to speak.

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