Page 48 of Caribbean Crush

“Eh, the couch thing was nice, and that little session in the shower was sort of exciting ...”

“Casey.”

She feigned guilt. “Oh no, have I hurt your feelings? It’s not your fault. I’ve just had some really wonderful lovers. Experienced. Really limber. Big. I mean, you’re impressive and all ... but—”

I yanked her down so she fell flat, pinned to the center of the bed. Our room service got shoved aside and forgotten. For all I knew, it was spilled on the floor.

She squirmed back, playfully trying to get away from me before I latched my hands onto her ankles and pulled her toward me. Her robe splayed open as I held her down, coming over her so our eyes locked for a moment. Her gaze shone with longing. I knew she was right there with me—feeling this.

I worked the tie open on her robe as she laughed.

“Phillip!”

“Should I tease you the way you’ve been teasing me?” She was laughing, but the moment I slid her thighs apart, her breathing hitched.

“Don’t you dare.”

“All that talk about past lovers ... I bet you can’t name a single one who turned you on like this.”

I thought she’d have some witty retort, but she went silent as I slid down her body, stringing kisses down her stomach, passing over her tattoo again, claiming it. Past boyfriend, my ass.

I settled myself between her thighs, making myself right at home as she writhed and moaned. I licked her, and she arched off the bed, begging for more.

I’m turned on now, alone on my balcony, thinking back on it.

“Jesus,” I hiss under my breath.

I’m a schoolboy.

When Casey left sometime after 2:00 a.m., insistent that she wanted to go back to her suite to sleep, I walked her back and kissed her goodbye and stood aside as she shut her door, using it like a heavy axe, hoping it would cleave the magic that had spun around us over the last few hours. It didn’t work, and I’m annoyed that my feelings for her have carried over into today. I slept like shit after she left, tossing and turning, indecision keeping me awake. A part of me wanted to go knock on her door and continue where we’d left off. The other part of me won out, though. Barely. I might not have chased after her, but I’ve yet to get up and shower, or dress. I can’t seem to get my shit together today.

I’m surprised by the guilt gnawing at me.

I made it perfectly clear last night that I had no intention of giving Casey an interview, and though I thought that would be enough to clear my conscience, it wasn’t. Everything we did was hot and consensual, yes, but there’s no doubt that feelings could get twisted. More than that, I was in a position of power over Casey last night. She needs something from me. It was a game, and now that game is over. It has to be.

Vivienne is my future. I haven’t relinquished hope that she and I will work out in the end. She’ll come to her senses and beg for me to come back. I’ll put on a show like I’m really debating it, but I will go back in the end. She and I belong together in a way Casey and I never will. Vivienne and Casey are polar opposites, down to their very core. Their work, their lifestyles, their personalities—Vivienne is exactly like me. She thinks four or five steps ahead, always. She leaves nothing up to chance. Casey scares me—her authenticity, her vulnerability ... all of it. The simple fact that she doesn’t have a place to live right now, that she’s okay with stowing her things in a storage unit and hopping from hotel to hotel rather than immediately signing a new lease and getting her life in order. I would have had a plan in place weeks ago. I’d know exactly what to do and how I was going to do it. Yet she seems perfectly fine with her circumstances. Enough to board a cruise for two weeks!

It drives me insane just thinking about it. What is she going to do when she gets home? How long does she plan to keep this up?

I’m a fixer, and I want to fix this situation for her, but I can’t. She’s not my problem. She’s ... nothing to me.

As guilt languishes inside me, I stand and head to my computer back inside my suite. I want to right this wrong. I want to be done with Casey. I feel a quiver in my stomach. Something close to panic rises up inside me.

I never once felt this with Vivienne, and that’s how I know it’s wrong—last night was a mistake. The peace Vivienne brings to my life could never exist with Casey. That much I know.

It’s not hard to find Casey’s email. There’s a master list of everyone currently on board Aurelia, their full names, phone numbers, addresses. I realize now that Casey listed Bon Voyage’s address rather than her own, and I feel a fresh wave of anger and annoyance over the fact that I can’t solve her problems.

I want to be able to cleanly walk away from this situation with Casey. To do that, I’ll have to relent. The task at hand isn’t something I’m comfortable with, but well ... what choice do I have?

It takes me thirty minutes to compile answers to a list of ten popular interview questions. I expand on all of them, giving her as much as I can so she has a lot to work with. I veer toward discussing my business and leave most of my personal life out of it. I know she won’t like that, but it’ll have to do. It’s far more than any other journalist has gleaned from me in years. Hopefully, it’ll suffice.

I stall when I go to attach the interview answers to the email only because I’m not sure what to add in the body of the email, how to address her, what to say after last night. I don’t want to be overly formal, and yet I don’t want to put anything in writing that could jeopardize her career.

In the end, I leave the body of the email completely blank and hit send.

Chapter Twelve

CASEY

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