Page 85 of Caribbean Crush

“I told Vivienne”—his finger stills—“that in some ways, important ways, I feel for you in seven days what I never felt for her in two years.”

I squeeze my eyes closed against his confession.

He turns me so we’re chest to chest, my legs draped over his, as if he’s trying to shield me. I bury my face against his chest, inhaling his scent, wishing he didn’t feel like home. I haven’t known that feeling in so long, not since my last big bear hug from my grandmother. To me, peace is a sensation more dangerous than lust.

“I didn’t tell her that to belittle our relationship,” Phillip continues, “or try to rewrite history. Vivienne was a wonderful partner and a good friend. I’d never want to hurt her, but I needed to explain to her why I was sticking to our breakup. I needed her to know the truth so that it’d be easier for her to walk away.” He makes me look at him. “You have to understand the way we operated. You know my personality. Now imagine my dream partner.”

I sit up (literally rising to the challenge) and smile as I tick personality traits off my fingers. “Easygoing, slow to anger, intelligent ... hmm, you love being in charge, so I’d bet she needs to be deferential too.”

He chuckles. “You just described Vivienne to a T.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “And you’re here with me? Oh my god, quick.” I wave my hand frantically. “Get your phone and call her up right now because I will never, not in a million years, be that to you. Wait. God. I bet she’s one of those women who would also gladly cook you dinner every night wearing high heels and a nightie. Phillip! I don’t even own a nightie!”

During my rambling, he started toying with my hair, twisting the strands around his fingers, studying them as if he were musing over something. Now, he throws his head back and laughs, and I want to crawl into him and never leave.

Great, Casey.

That’s a healthy thought.

I poke at him to get him to stop laughing, and he sobers, his features settling into something serious. I know he’s about to devastate me one way or another. I brace myself as he begins. “I know this is just a fling, and it’s crazy to think I can have you forever. You’ve made that perfectly clear. But I keep trying to stay away from you so we can pump the brakes and slow down, and instead, I find myself racing back to you as fast as I can each time we’re apart. It’s futile.”

I squeeze my eyes closed and fall against his chest again.

“We’re hopeless.”

“Hopeless,” he confirms.

“The cruise only lasts two more days,” I say helpfully. “What if we just give in totally, like really play at this being a real relationship, and then at the end of the cruise when it’s my time to depart the ship, I’ll be on my way, and you will not, under any circumstances, come after me. It’ll be a clean break. Something nice to look back on. Not something we overanalyze and stretch and ruin.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding relieved by the option.

It seems like the only way forward. There’s no sense in trying to keep pulling ourselves apart while we’re both still on board Aurelia. It’s just going to be impossible. So we give in; we stop resisting our connection for the time being, and we revel in it. Then after ... I don’t know. We put a continent’s worth of distance between us and hope for the best!

“Also, a basic ground rule,” I start to add, and he nods for me to continue. “I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing or where you’re going after the cruise, and you won’t ask me either. We don’t exist to each other after this, okay?”

He cups my cheek, leaning down to kiss me.

“Okay.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

CASEY

So apparently there’s a difference between being on board Aurelia as an employee of Bon Voyage and being on board Aurelia as Phillip’s invited guest. I thought I was already living in the lap of luxury, but the next morning when I wake up in my suite, utterly hungover, lamenting the idea of ever having to get up, I smell ... breakfast.

I sit up and sniff, confused.

Out in the living room, someone has delivered (a) a dining table that wasn’t there before, (b) four chairs to go around it, (c) a tablecloth, and (d) a dining table’s worth of food for me—everything from croissants and pain au chocolat to bacon and sausage and three types of eggs. I lift the lids and find everything is still warm. I break off a bite of one of the croissants, and it practically melts in my mouth. I utter “oh my gawwwwd” while forcing more into my gullet as fast as possible.

In the center of the table, there’s a floral arrangement with flowers I’ve never seen in my little corner of White Plains, New York, alongside a beautiful card with a gold leaf border and looping black cursive.

Phillip would have perfect handwriting ...

I have a little work to get done this morning, but meet me at the pool around lunchtime.—P

PS I hope you enjoy your breakfast. If I’ve left something off, phone your butler, and he’ll bring it up.

Right, of course. I’ll just phone my butler.

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