Love Overboard

Chapter 18

LACEY AVERAGED A COMPLIMENT A minute from her date during dinner. He declared her hair shone in the candlelight. The color of her outfit made her skin glow. Every man in the room wished she were at his table. One thing was certain, Ricardo knew how to treat a lady.

Saturated with praise, Lacey floated out of the restaurant. Almost. Her screaming toes kept intruding on the fantasy.

She tried not to hobble as she walked, her purse and flower bouquet clutched in her arms. Her attentive date pointed out local landmarks and made her laugh with funny stories of his restaurant-owner friend and himself. They wandered through the city streets without a set destination. Exuberant mariachi music floated out of a café, and locals and tourists bustled around in a talkative, noisy herd. The sweet smell of fresh-cooked churros wafted from a vendor’s cart.

Lacey pointed at the sugar-coated sticks. “How about I buy us dessert?”

“I would lo—” Ricardo froze when he saw the time on a large neon clock in a store window. “Is it eight?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Ricardo smacked his forehead. “This is when I am supposed to be in the kitchen. We must go.”

He grabbed her wrist and towed her down the sidewalk. They stopped at a four-way intersection, but all the taxis were taken. The traffic light shone red. No cars crossed in front of them.

Ricardo muttered in Spanish and tapped his phone against his leg. He looked from right to left and thrust a finger at the other side of the road. “Go now.” He jetted into the street without waiting for a response.

Lacey hurried to follow. She tripped off the curb, and her right heel caught in the wide hem of her pantsuit. Her arms flailed as her body propelled forward. Her left knee hit the hard pavement, followed by her hand. The roses scattered on the asphalt. Her skinny purse flung open, and the contents spilled across the street. A tube of lipstick rolled past her nose.

Ricardo raced to her. “Are you hurt? Pobrecita.”

He reached down, and Lacey scrambled to retrieve her things, ignoring the throb in her left knee. The humiliation hurt worse. She didn’t dare make eye contact with the drivers waiting at the stoplight, sure they were laughing at the spectacle.

“I’m fine.” She shoved the items in her purse and staggered to her feet.

It wasn’t really a lie. She was fine, compared with starving people in impoverished countries. Tripping in her high heels on the way to a luxury cruise ship was a first world problem.

Ricardo took her by the elbow. “Let me help you. These terrible streets. Why don’t they time their traffic lights better?”

He helped her onto the sidewalk. Lacey dared a quick glance at the cars and met a familiar pair of eyes as she scanned the road. Jon stood on the opposite corner, a blank expression on his face.

“Of course,” Lacey murmured.

“What did you say?” Ricardo asked.

“Nothing. Let’s get back to the ship.”

The two ran through the crowded streets and along the lengthy pier. Lacey’s knee throbbed, but she kept pace with Ricardo. They reached the entrance to the ship as a large group of passengers was making their way aboard.

“Can I leave you here?” Her date bounced on his toes as he tipped his head at the boat. “Chef hates it when I’m late.”

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

Her knee called her a liar, but Ricardo bought it. He bolted up the gangplank, pushing past the people in his way. Lacey’s shoulders sagged, and she grabbed hold of the railing as she hauled her way on board. Her feet hobbled, the tiny heels sticking in the grated metal floor. She bent and yanked the torturous stilettos off. Her pants legs dragged along the incline. Once inside the ship, she limped her way to the nearest sitting area, tossed the shoes to the floor, and sank on a velvet-cushioned bench with a whimper. She surveyed the hallway to be sure no one was around and pulled her pants leg to her knee. An angry red patch with jagged gashes stared back at her.

“At least it’s not bleeding.” She poked the scrape and winced.

“Bleeding?” Jon appeared out of nowhere and knelt. “Let me see.”

“No, no.” Lacey lifted off the cushion and waved both hands like a pair of frenetic windshield wipers. “I’m fine.”

“Your knee disagrees with you.” Jon gently pushed her onto the bench and squinted as he grabbed one of her waving hands. “Your palm disagrees too.” He examined the skin and pointed to the deep welts left by the unforgiving road. “Is this your definition of fine?”

“It’s no big deal.” Lacey averted her eyes.

Jon hovered in front of her, but she studied the golden carpet. He dropped her hand, rose to his feet, and left without another word.

Lacey watched him disappear around the corner. “That’s it?” She pulled her drooping pants leg back up to inspect her wound. “It’s not like I’m dying or anything, but you could at least say ‘goodbye.’”

She searched in her purse for something to dab at the scrape but didn’t find so much as a tissue in the tiny clutch. Lacey jumped as a white plastic box dropped on the bench beside her.

Jon bent to open the first aid kit and pulled out several items. Cotton balls, disinfectant, and bandages formed a sterilized pile. “Let’s start with the hand.” He knelt once again.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to—”

He ignored her as he tore open an antiseptic wipe, grabbed her palm, and dabbed it with the wet cloth.

Lacey stared at his glossy brown hair as he worked.

He tugged the pants leg a little farther past her knee and scrutinized the ugly spot, which was already developing a purplish tinge around the vivid red center.

“This might sting.” He took a small brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the bench and covered a cotton ball with the pungent mixture.

Lacey sucked air through her teeth as the medicine hit her skin and burned the open wound. The liquid bubbled into a tiny white foam over the cut. Jon rested his free hand on the side of her calf, leaned forward, and blew softly. His breath hit the fiery patch and cooled the tingling sensation.

Too bad it couldn’t cool the full-blown blaze his lean fingers on her leg caused. It was like someone poured cooking oil on a gas range. The flames leaped up and threatened to toast her insides.

“I … I think it’s okay now.” She brushed his hand away and stood. Her trouser slid to her ankle, covering the still-stinging wound on her knee.

Jon rose from his kneeling position, his trademark smile missing. “You’re sure?”

“Mm-hmm. Thanks to your quick attention. I didn’t know you had medical training.” She tried to joke away the awkwardness hanging between them.

“Vacations with my nieces.” He concentrated on packing the supplies in the first aid kit. “There’s always plenty of skinned knees when those three get together.”

“Three? I thought you had two nieces.”

“My sister added another one since the last time we worked the same ship.” He turned to her with the kit at his side.

The awkward silence returned while they stared at each other.

“I forgot things change,” Lacey said.

“Some things.” He tilted his head and eyed her French twist. “You never wear your hair down anymore.”

Jon took a step closer until he was standing near enough she had to raise her chin, and he ran a finger across the silky roll. The gesture set her inner radar on high alert.

Warning! Warning!

If she wanted to keep him at a distance both physically and emotionally, she needed to move. That’s what her head told her. But her body wasn’t cooperating. She’d swear she was leaning forward.

She swayed, tilted back, and cleared her throat. “Thanks for your help.”

Jon held something up to her face, and she looked cross-eyed at the bandage in front of her nose.

“Put this on your knee when you get to your room.”

She took it, and he moved away.

“Thanks again,” Lacey said.

“No problem. See you at early-morning staff meeting.” He walked away, unaware of the fire he’d stoked inside of her, and Lacey raised a fist at his back.

Why couldn’t sweet, gorgeous, ex-almost-boyfriends keep their bandages to themselves?