Page 83 of Caribbean Crush

Seems like simple math to me. Two plus two equals Casey and Phillip are destined to be star-crossed lovers. The equation only balances out to tragedy.

He reaches up to smooth his hand around my neck so his thumb can glide over my pulse point. Ooh la la. That’s heavenly.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to explain how I feel about you,” he says sadly.

Panic seizes my chest, sobering me slightly. We can’t go here. “It’s better if we don’t discuss it. Like, obviously I’m attracted to you, and you’re attracted to me; I can see it. God, even now, you look at me like you want to eat me up.”

He smirks. “I do.”

My heart starts to race, but I try to laugh him off. “Jesus, Phillip. You’re so intense.”

His hand on my neck tightens infinitesimally. “I’m not usually this way.”

I puff out a disbelieving breath. “Yeah, right.”

He comes closer, brushing his hips against mine. “You do this, Casey. You make me feel like I’m finally fucking waking up, you know? I’m seeing what it’s supposed to be like.”

“Like what’s supposed—oh my god.”

I layer my hands over his mouth. “Don’t say another word! Are you absolutely out of your mind? We are not doing that! We are not going to have great sex in fun tropical places and mistake it for falling in love. That’s like cruise ship–fling rule number one. I’m shocked you don’t know this.”

When I trust that he’s not going to continue down the same road he was headed, I slip my hand away from his mouth.

“Can we go talk somewhere?” he asks, nodding past the crowd and toward the doorway.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get a headache anyway.”

There actually is a finite amount of time a human brain can listen to Whitney Houston blaring at full blast, and I’ve reached it. I’m more than happy to let Phillip drag me out of La Dame. On my way, I blow a kiss and shoot a wink at Sienna, who’s dancing hot and heavy with Javier. I haven’t had the chance to ask her how serious they are. Have they set tight parameters around their relationship like we have? (Also, are they failing as miserably at upholding those parameters as we are?)

The thought drifts away with a new immediate need.

“Water.”

I’ve never been so thirsty in my life.

Phillip has my hand, and he knows where to go, even if I’m suddenly feeling drunker than ever. “I’ll take you back to your suite.”

He calls the elevator, then leads me inside, watching me beneath his black lashes so that eventually, I’m forced to ask, “What?”

He shakes his head.

“You’re hopeless, Phillip Woodmont.”

“And you’re—”

“Drunk,” I insert, trying to cut the tension. I feel like I have to keep us in check. He’s certainly not going to!

“Tell me why you quit your job.”

I stare ahead, ignoring his attention. Counting those little glowing numbers changing as we ascend decks. “I’d rather not.”

“Fine. Tell me, at least, if that’s why you were upset yesterday?”

Ugh! “Yes. Partly.” I rush the words out, hoping to get this over with fast. Now, in my current state, I can’t exactly remember why I didn’t want to bring Phillip in on everything. Because it’s messy and chaotic? Oh well. He’s not under some assumption that I’m a perfect Vivienne type. That ship has sailed. “Also, I was sad because it’s been a hard few weeks. Moving out of my grandmother’s house and having to put her things in storage ...” I shake my head, hoping to push past the fresh wave of sadness. “In some ways, I feel like I’m experiencing her death all over again. It’s been harder than I realized it would be. And do not get me started on work. Gwen Levis can go screw herself, for all I care. My exit from Bon Voyage was not exactly amicable, and I refuse to apologize for it.”

He squeezes my hand, trying to reassure me.

No!

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