Page 44 of Love on Deck

“You did,” I said, sitting up but still holding the pillow in front of me. “In the hot tub. A gentleman never tells!”

“That was obviously an avoidance tactic,” he said somewhere behind the pillow shield I was holding. After a minute of silence, he asked, “Are you ticklish?”

“What?”

His hands snaked under the pillow and went for my sides, moving quickly and making me squeal. I chucked the pillow at him, falling over in high-pitched laughter I could not control for the life of me.

“STOP!” I called between giggles, his fingers dancing over my sensitive abdomen.

Jack immediately retreated, his grin so wide his teeth were gleaming in the dark room. “Careful or you’ll make the neighbors send someone to check on you.”

“It would only serve you right if they did make assumptions.” My chest heaved while I tried to regain normal breathing. I’d been spun around, so twisted in the blankets that our bed was no longer neat and orderly with perfectly divided sections. Pillows were strewn everywhere, the sheets twisted around one of my legs, and I was on my hands and knees, prepared to fight off any further tickling attempts.

“That was extremely satisfying,” Jack said.

I sat back on my heels at the foot of the bed, opposite him. “Making me squeal like a terrified pig?”

“No, watching you lose control. Your laugh was just the cherry on top.”

He’d pinpointed exactly why I hated being tickled. I was so ticklish, like beyond normal, and I hated it. I hated losing control and not being able to quiet my volume or keep myself from kicking out involuntarily. It was a full body reflex—vocal chords included—and totally out of my hands. There was nothing in the world I hated more than not having things well in hand.

So, why did I have the slightest temptation to entice him to do it again?

“If you tickle me again,” I warned, “you’re sleeping outside.”

“Good thing it’s warm,” he said, reaching toward me slowly.

I picked up a pillow and hit his hands down. “No.”

Jack immediately stopped. “Okay.”

Okay? Really? It was that easy? I mean, it always should be that easy, but I hadn’t expected him to back down so quickly. “Thank you.”

“I’m just trying to keep myself from being thrown in cruise ship jail.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. I was sitting back on my heels, hugging a pillow to me, my half-wet hair falling in frizzy strands around my face.

“Huh,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “You should leave it down more often.”

I picked up a chunk of hair and dropped it against my shoulder with a splat. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Jack put up both hands as if to say that he was nothing but genuine. He climbed from the bed and reached for me. “Here. We won’t be able to fix this mess unless we get off.”

I took his hand, untangling my foot and climbing down. He straightened the sheets and blankets, then reassembled my pillow wall. He moved to my side of the bed and folded back the blanket in a triangle, then gestured to it like Vanna White. “Your bed awaits.”

This was weird. Jack was so large but quiet, waiting for me to climb into bed. “It looks like you’re waiting to tuck me in,” I joked.

“I am,” he said quietly.

My heart leapt to my throat. No one had ever done that for me before. Literally. My mom must have done it when I was a toddler and she was still alive, but I couldn’t remember those years.

I slid under the blankets and Jack pulled them over me, tucking the edges underneath my sides. He stood above me, looking down for a minute. “Yep. Just as good as I imagined.”

I couldn’t breathe as I waited for him to round the bed and climb in on his side. He pulled the blanket over himself and let out a sigh that went straight into my heart.

“Jack?” I whispered, reaching over the pillow wall to find his hand. He let me take it, and I pressed it with all the warmth I had. “Thank you. No one has ever done that for me before.”

“Tickled you? I can see why. You’re terrifyingly loud.”

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