Chapter Twenty-Five
Elora
I go to ask Linc a question, but he’s looking off into the distance, lost in thought, and the words fade on my lips.
It’s been interesting watching him with Henry and his friends. Even at eighteen, Linc was the sort of guy who was at home in any company, and he’s only gotten better over the years. He has an easy manner and he’s a great conversationalist, and very little seems to faze him. Despite not having seen Henry since they were teens, they fell back into their teasing, mocking friendship with ease, and he had no trouble at all in connecting with the other guys and Juliette, making it seem as if they were all old friends, even though this was the first time they’d met.
I did my best to join in, trying to overcome my natural shyness. It’s never been as easy for me—I have to work harder at it—but occasionally I caught Linc watching me, and I could see he was enjoying himself. He likes the way we bounce off each other, how we’re able to read each other and make people laugh, as if we’re a couple.
Don’t get carried away, Elora.
The Uber pulls up and we get in, and we head to Lyttelton, where we’re due to pick up the ferry at four p.m. Once we arrive, we check in and offload our cases. Linc has already spoken to them, added me to the passenger list, and paid for me, refusing any offer of mine to contribute, and we both get a key card to our suite, which is exciting, as I’ve never been on a cruise before. We go into the café and have a coffee while we sit and chat, waiting for the boat, or ship, according to Fraser.
In the end, we don’t have long to wait before boarding begins. We join the queue waiting to cross the gangplank, looking up at the Pāua Shell—the ship that rears above us, gleaming in the summer sunshine. It’s not as big as some of the ocean liners that traverse the Pacific, but it is still enormous, with eleven decks, the biggest ship I’ve ever been on by far.
On board, we find ourselves on Deck Four in a foyer, with signs directing passengers to the elevators and stairs for the various decks. We’re on Deck Seven, and so we take the stairs up, then walk along the corridor until we reach our suite. Linc touches his key card to the door, and we go inside.
I knew he’d booked a suite rather than one of the standard rooms, but even so, I’m stunned by the size of it. It has a living room with a sofa and chairs and a large flat-screen TV, a separate bedroom with a king-size bed, an ensuite bathroom with a bath and a shower, and an outside balcony with two sun loungers and an outdoor dining table.
“Oh my God.” I wander around, looking at the decor, which has a beautiful Pāua shell theme—blue, green, and purple, with small pieces of shell set into the wooden tables. “This place is fantastic.”
“I know. Look at this.” He unlocks the sliding doors and walks out onto the balcony. I follow him out there, and we lean on the railing and look out at the view of the quay.
“Once we leave port, all we’ll be able to see is the ocean,” he says.
I nod, excited at the thought, but distracted by the fact that his arm is pressed against mine. He’s wearing a tee, but his arms are bare, and his skin is warm and tanned, darker than mine.
There’s something about him that’s so… alive. I feel as if I buzz with energy when he’s near. He does something to my blood, makes it fizz and pop, until I’m tingling all over.
He looks at me then, and his green eyes turn curious, then amused, as he guesses what I’m thinking.
“The thought of ocean-going sex turn you on?” he murmurs, bending his head to kiss me.
“ You turn me on,” I correct, breathless.
“You’re insatiable. Are you trying to wear me out?”
“I want to please you,” I tell him. “I want to drive you crazy with desire.”
“You do, sweetheart, I swear.”
I hesitate, biting my bottom lip. His gaze drops to it for a moment before returning to my eyes.
“I know you’re trying to be nice,” I say, “and you’ve done everything you can to take it slow with me, and I really, really appreciate it, but… I want to make you lose it. I want to drive you crazy, because you drive me crazy, do you know that?” I’m babbling again, and I know I shouldn’t say all this, but my mouth won’t stop moving. “I can’t stop thinking about you and remembering little moments we’ve shared over the past few days—they replay in my memory on repeat. I keep remembering how it felt to have you inside me, especially with the thirty percent control… And I want more, and I know we don’t have much time, but I want all of you, Linc…”
My voice fades away. He’s staring at me, and embarrassment hits me with a wallop. My face burns, so I know I’ve blushed.
“Shit,” I mumble, “I shouldn’t have said anything…”
“Come here,” he says. And he slides a hand to the back of my neck and holds me there as he crushes his lips to mine.
I rest my hands on his chest, trying to catch my breath as he delves his tongue into my mouth. Desire shoots through me at a million miles an hour, and my eyes prick with tears at the thought that he doesn’t mind me blurting out how I feel about him.
He lifts his head then, holding my face with both hands, and he says fiercely, “Don’t ever apologize for saying what’s on your mind. I want to know.”
“But… I know I shouldn’t. You’re going, and I’ve got to deal with that. And I want to be all grown up about it, and be offhand and ‘well it was fun while it lasted,’ I really do…”
He smiles. “That was never going to happen, and I think we both knew it.”
I look at him helplessly.
“Yes,” he says, hearing my unspoken question. “I feel the same. We’re going to have to make a decision when the time comes. None of the options will be easy.”
“None of the options?”
“I stay. I leave. Or you come with me.”
My jaw drops. I honestly hadn’t considered that he might want to do anything but leave when the week is over.
“Listen,” he says, “we’ve only been together a few days, and it’s a lot to ask us to make big decisions about the rest of our life after such a brief time. But we’ve got a bit longer together. Let’s wait and see how we feel when it’s time to part, and we’ll talk about it again then, okay?”
I nod, because I don’t really have any option. I can see he doesn’t want to talk about it now. He’s a man who runs on instinct; he always was, even back then. Dad often used to ask one of the boys to lead the forest retreats, and he’d follow along at the back of the group, only stepping in if they got into trouble. When it was Fraser’s turn, he’d plan the route meticulously and have plenty of checkpoints. Joel was a little more flexible, but he was always careful to mark the trees as he passed them and memorize landmarks.
Linc was a loose cannon—half the time he’d get lost, and Dad would have to lead them back onto a track. But at other times his naturally explorative method would lead them to discover things they hadn’t seen before—a tree struck by lightning, a cave in the hillside they hadn’t spotted previously, and even, one night, a Kiwi nest, all the boys lying in the bush while they watched the flightless bird wandering through the undergrowth.
So he’s not going to plan for the future. It makes sense that he wants to wait and see how things pan out.
I feel frustrated, because I’m not like that; I like to plan, to make lists of advantages and disadvantages, and to debate possible outcomes. But that’s not going to work this time, and I’m going to have to learn to deal with that.
He turns and looks over the barrier as the ship’s horn sounds, long and loud. “We’re leaving port,” he says, and I join him and watch the ship sail slowly away from the quay, Lyttelton gradually disappearing to our left as we head out to the bright blue waters of the Pacific. Before long, the ship is heading around the Akaroa peninsula before it begins its journey southwest toward Dunedin.
“We should explore the ship,” he announces. He’s like the sun—I can almost see energy shooting out from his fingers and toes and the roots of his hair. I feel like a planet orbiting him, my light just a reflection of his, and doubt flickers in my mind. He’s such a free spirit. And I’m not. Nobody would use the word free to describe me. They’d use words like constrained, constricted, restrained, controlled. If we were a couple, I’d only hold him back. He’d want to travel and experience new things. And I just want to hole up in my office and stick my head in a book. How long would it be before I drove him mad? Before he found someone else who was a much better match for his personality?
I don’t say anything, but it simmers at the back of my mind as we leave the cabin and begin our tour of the ship.
We start by going down to Deck Five—taking the stairs, as I don’t like elevators—and discover the main shopping center, which sells all manner of clothing, souvenirs, and snacks, then wander along to the Cabaret Lounge and its connected theater. It’s bigger than I thought it would be, with tiered seating like an amphitheater, and it’s quiet at the moment, but a board by the door announces that this is where the archaeology conference is taking place. Bluegills Restaurant is quiet at the moment too, although the Snapper Bar has a few couples sitting by the window, watching the Pacific sail by as they sip their first cocktails of the day.
The next few decks only have cabins, so we go up to Deck Nine, which is focused on fitness and relaxation. There’s a beauty spa, a pool—onboard a ship, wow!—with a café and a bar, and a fitness center, all of it spotless and gleaming.
Deck Ten is much more my sort of thing, though. It has an Italian restaurant, Pescare, a restaurant called Butterfish that serves all kinds of food from steak to vegetarian dishes, a quiet drawing room with shelves of books we’re free to borrow, a card and games room, a more informal living room with sofas, armchairs, and big TVs, and two more bars.
Deck Eleven is a sun deck, and also where they show movies, although at the moment it’s quiet, with just a few couples and a group of older women—friends escaping for a private adventure—sipping cocktails. We lean on the railing and look out at the magnificent view of the Pacific.
“Liberating, isn’t it?” Linc says, lifting his chin so the breeze riffles through his hair.
“Mmm.” I close my eyes and try to imagine how it must feel to not be scared. To feel as if the world is your oyster, and you can do anything, achieve anything you want.
When I open my eyes again, Linc is watching me.
“You’re absolutely stunning,” he says.
The compliment takes me back, and I blink a few times before smiling shyly. “Thank you. That’s a nice thing to say.”
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I didn’t upset you, back in our room?”
“No, of course not. Don’t mind me if I’m quiet. I know this must seem very tame for you, but it’s quite an adventure for me.”
He stares at me, obviously only realizing now how going away with him, on the ship, is a huge step out of my comfort zone.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, turning to face me and putting his arms around me, “I didn’t even think about that. I’m such an idiot.”
“No, it’s okay. I like that you push me to try new things. It’s just…” I play with the placket of his shirt. “I must seem very dull to you.”
He slides a hand under my chin and lifts it so I’m looking up at him. “What are you talking about? You fascinate me.”
“Aw, Linc, come on. I’m Little Miss Boring. I don’t set foot out of the museum from week to week.”
“You’ve forgotten I’m an archaeologist.”
“No, I haven’t. But you’re this famous figure who’s been on hundreds of digs, and traveled, and you speak at conferences, and everyone knows who you are… All my knowledge is dry and dusty, from books, and I’m so…” I was going to say small, but it sounds pathetic, like I’m baiting him, trying to provoke a compliment.
He frowns, though, pulls me against him, and gives me a big hug. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I know you’re introverted and quiet. But sweetheart, you just shine. You’re so incredibly smart. Joel told me you came top of your cohort at university. That you got ninety-one for your dissertation.”
I rub my nose. “My brother needs to keep his mouth shut.”
“No, I’m glad he told me. I scraped through a degree because I had to, really, but I didn’t do great. I’m all talk—I can talk my way in or out of any situation. I’m what Londoners call a fanny merchant, a bullshitter. I know that. And I’ve made my peace with it. But I have such respect for you and your academic work. The archaeological world would be nothing without people like you doing the real work behind the scenes—the studying, the recording, and analyzing.”
“God, that makes me sound dull,” I say with a half-laugh.
“No… Lora… I meant it when I said you fascinate me. All the members of your family do. Okay, none of you is going to find a cure for cancer, but individually you’ve all done amazing things. Your mum is mother to all those kids at Greenfield, many of whom don’t have a real mum, or only have a useless one, like me. Your dad was absolutely instrumental in making me into the man I am now. I’ve read the reports on the museum—Fraser has completely turned it around and it’s actually making money now, and it’s listed as one of the top places to visit in New Zealand. Joel’s making a name for himself as one of the top underwater archaeologists in Australasia. And you’re going to revolutionize the way we look at the ancient bird population in this country.”
“Fuck me,” I say, exasperated, “please stop or I’m going to slit my wrists.”
“Stop it,” he snaps then, putting his hands on his hips. “I don’t know why you and Fraser talk to me as if I’m someone else. Just because I don’t dress like Indiana Jones.”
I stare at him for a moment. “Is this you putting your foot down?”
He glares at me. Then he says, “Maybe. Is it working?”
“Sort of. It’s kinda hot.”
His lips twitch, and he holds up a finger. “Stop it. I’m serious. You’re talking to the guy who’s famous for identifying a rabbit bone.”
That makes me giggle. “Yeah, okay.” I take his hand, close my mouth over his extended finger, and suck it gently.
His eyes nearly fall out of his head. “Jesus, Lora.”
I lift my head. “What?”
“That’s the quickest I’ve ever achieved an erection.”
I dissolve into giggles.
“You realize we’re not alone,” he scolds, tucking an arm around my waist as he escorts me back to the stairs.
I glance across and see that we’re being watched by a group of women, who are all smiling, and I blush scarlet. “Oh my.”
He laughs and kisses my forehead. “That’s made my day.”
“Oh don’t… I’m so embarrassed…”
“It’s probably made their day too.”
“Linc!”
He laughs, pushing open the door at the bottom of the steps, and thankfully we go through to the next deck.
Although it has only just gone five o’clock, we’re hungry and decide to head to the Bluegills restaurant for an early dinner. After we’ve placed our order—me for gulf shrimp with Cognac and garlic, Linc for filet mignon with black truffle sauce—he tells me he’s taking part in a panel this evening in the Theater at seven, following which there’s going to be a party.
“A party?”
He gives me an amused look. “There’s going to be live music and dancing! Disco, mainly, I think. Just imagine.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“When was the last time you went to a party?” he teases. Then he sees the look on my face and looks horror struck. “Shit. I’m so sorry. Fuck. I keep putting my foot in it.”
I chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. But yeah, I haven’t been to a party for a long time.”
“You’ll come with me, though?” he asks. “You’ll dance with me?”
I think about being close to him and moving slowly to the music. I’d like to do that more than anything in the world. But in public?
“They’ll mostly be archaeologists,” he points out. “It’s hardly going to be a rave.”
That makes me laugh. “Maybe,” I concede. “I’ll see how I feel.”
“All right. I’ll work on you.” He has a bite of his bread roll and waggles his eyebrows.
I give a wry smile. The thought of being in a room full of people makes my heart race. But I want to watch the panel and see Linc speak. I’ll sit relatively near the door, I tell myself, so I can slip out if I need to.
The food is magnificent, and, feeling adventurous, I ask for a glass of white wine. Linc suggests a Sauvignon Blanc, and I don’t miss that he asks for a glass of the most expensive one on the menu. I sip it while I eat, tasting passionfruit and mango, and really enjoying it. I have no interest in getting drunk, but I like the way it relaxes me.
After dinner, Linc says he’d like to meet the organizers of the conference before the panel starts, and he asks me to go with him. So after a quick freshen up in our room, I nip into the bathroom and change into a long, blue summer dress, coming out to find Linc in black trousers and a dark purple shirt.
We head down to the theater. Sure enough, the organizers are there setting up tables on the stage ready for the panel, and a few people are already filtering into the seats. Holding my hand, Linc leads me to the front and up to a woman with silvery-gray hair in a short, neat bob. The badge on her jacket says ‘Alethea Everest.’
“Alethea.” Linc holds out his hand, “hi, I’m Linc Green.”
“Oh, Linc! I saw you’d come aboard.” She shakes his hand, beaming. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“This is Elora-Rose Bell,” he says, gesturing to me, “she’s… my partner.”
If she notices the slight hesitation as he suddenly realizes he doesn’t know what to call me, she doesn’t comment on it. “Elora-Rose,” she says, “lovely to meet you.”
“Oh, it’s just Elora,” I say hastily. “He always insists on adding my middle name.”
“It has a ring to it,” he says.
She just smiles. “Come on, let me introduce you to the others.”
We meet the other members of the panel tonight—two guys and three women who are all archaeologists and historians from various organizations across Australia and New Zealand. Linc is the only archaeologist from further afield. The panel tonight is about field excavation techniques, and he tells me he’s here because he’s taken part in so many excavations in Europe, where they often use exploratory trenches, whereas open excavations are favored here because the archaeological layers aren’t as deep as those in countries with a longer history.
“Well, I’d better take my seat,” Linc says, leading me to a seat near the front. I’ll sit at the end of the row, as I’ll get claustrophobic if I sit in the middle and can’t get out easily.
I lift onto my tiptoes, so my lips are close to his ear. “By the way, just so you know—I’m going commando tonight.”
His eyebrows shoot up. He stares at me for a moment, then slips an arm around me and surreptitiously brushes it from my shoulder blades down my spine. He finds no bra strap and no VPL, and his eyes widen.
“How am I supposed to concentrate now?” he murmurs, his expression turning a tad exasperated.
I shrug and giggle, then slide into my seat. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” he replies sarcastically. He heads for the stage and climbs the steps, and stops to chat to Alethea, but I see him glance over at me, and I know he’s having trouble not thinking about me. I feel a little smug. Now he knows how I feel all the time!
As seven approaches, the seats fill up quickly, and before long the theater is full, voices rising and falling as everyone waits eagerly for the panel to begin.
Linc takes a chair in the middle of the table, and when Alethea calls for quiet and begins to introduce the panel, he winks at me, making me flush a little as a few people spot it and glance over at me curiously. When she introduces him, he stands and gives a little bow, and then laughs as a few people in the audience whoop, while everyone else claps. He’s obviously well known, even Down Under, and I wait for the panel to begin with growing interest.
It turns out to be a fun hour, and soon I’m enjoying myself so much that I forget about all the people in the room. The topic is fascinating, and it’s great to be surrounded by other people who are as interested as me. I don’t have to apologize for my passion here—everyone understands. The people on the panel are interesting and bounce off each other, with Linc, of course, keeping the conversation moving along and making everyone laugh.
I’m fascinated by his easy-going manner almost as much as his archaeological knowledge. He puts himself down, and maybe it’s true that he doesn’t have the grades that I have, but that certainly doesn’t mean he’s lacking in intelligence. He answers questions on excavations across Europe, explaining how he’s used trenches on sites from Stonehenge to the Viking ship in Norway, and his range of knowledge, as well as his ability to deliver it in such an interesting way, leave me speechless.
I thought I was half in love with him, but I realize, as I sit there listening to him holding an entire theater of people in thrall, that I’m wholly in love with him. I was foolish to think it wasn’t going to happen. I had stars in my eyes when I was a girl, and they’re still there, both old red dwarfs and new blue stars shining so bright it hurts my eyes. I’m just crazy about him, and I’ve been really stupid and fallen for him so hard I’m surprised I don’t have bruises.
He doesn’t want to talk about what happens when it’s time to leave, yet, but as I sit there, watching him and aching with love for him, all I can think about is how empty I’m going to feel when he goes. And how my poor, tender heart is going to break once again, because the cement holding the pieces together is still wet, and I realize then it’s never going to set. Linc is only ever going to be the one for me, and if I can’t have him, I’m not sure I want any other man.
Ah fuck. I’ve really got it bad.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Linc
When the panel finishes, I make my way over to Elora, who’s sitting on the end of one of the rows. I felt her eyes on me through the whole of the last hour. It made it hard to concentrate at times. Her eyes, while being baby-blue, are far from innocent. Her eyelids slide to half mast, and although I don’t think she’s aware of it, her expression turns sultry, so I know she’s thinking about what’s going to happen when we get back to our room.
We have a few hours yet though, as I want her to think about it for a while so that by the time we return to our suite, she’s flustered and aching for me. It amuses me just to think about it.
“Well done,” she says, standing as I approach. “You were amazing.”
I give a mock-nonchalant shrug, then smile. “I perform well in the spotlight.”
She chuckles and holds out her hand, and I take it in mine, leading her down the stairs toward the Cabaret Lounge. Tonight there’s no show as such. The room is filled with round tables, and a karaoke competition is about to start on the stage. It’s not normally my kind of thing, and I’m sure it’s not Elora’s, but although she stays shyly by my side, she seems happy enough as we wander through the room until we’re stopped by Alethea and invited to sit at her table. A couple of the other panelists are there, both with their partners, as well as one of the conference organizers and his wife, so Elora and I slide into two chairs.
Elora perches on the edge of hers, her spine a little stiff, and I see her glance dart off, checking out the exits and the number of people filing in. Our table is almost in the center of the room, so I understand why she might feel closed in.
“All right, gorgeous?” I lift her fingers to mine and kiss them.
She brings her gaze to me and gives a short smile. “I’m fine.”
I lean forward so my lips are close to her ear. “All the time I was sitting at that table, I was thinking about going down on you later.” I press my lips to the sensitive spot behind her ear, then move back.
Her eyes have widened comically, and her face flushes red. “Linc!” she says, glancing around the table to see if anyone overheard.
“What?” I give my best innocent look.
She glares at me. “You’re trying to discombobulate me.”
That makes me laugh. “Where are you from, 1942?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I’m absolutely going to mock you if you’re going to use words like discombobulate.” I grin at her as the waiter approaches and asks if we’d like a drink. “Do you want a coffee?”
“I’ll have a glass of Sauvignon please,” she says to the waiter.
My eyebrows rise, but I don’t comment, because it’s absolutely her choice, and I’m not her father. “What Irish whiskies have you got?” I ask when the waiter turns to me. He reels off half a dozen names, and I choose the twelve-year-old Tullamore Dew, on the rocks. He nods and continues around the table, taking orders.
The guy sitting next to me starts talking about an article he read on aerial photography, and that leads to a discussion on crop markings, which some of the others join in with. New Zealand is a heavily forested country, and that and the lack of pre-nineteenth century occupation has meant that the field isn’t a widely used one in this country. Elora accepts her wine when the waiter returns and sips it as she listens, then, to my surprise, interjects with a question about LiDAR—light detection and ranging—and how it’s able to pass through branches and leaves, and is therefore useful for mapping heavily overgrown landscapes.
Ethan, sitting next to me, looks surprised and says to her, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were an archaeologist.”
“I’m only recently qualified,” she says hastily as everyone looks at her. “I work in the National Museum in Wellington.”
“Don’t listen to her,” I tell the rest of the table, “she’s an absolute genius. She’s working on her thesis about identifying ancient bird species across the country. Not only is it going to change our view of the moa and other birds, but I believe it’ll be incredibly useful as a dating method for early settlements.”
She stares at me. “Who told you that?”
“Nobody. I’m an archaeologist, Lora. I understand the importance of stratigraphy and association.”
“That’s amazing,” Ethan says. “Bird bones are present at nearly all early sites.”
“Yes,” she says, tearing her gaze from me to look at Ethan, “and I thought that if I could provide a chronology for the various species of flightless birds, it might help as a method for dating our early sites, which is so tough because of the lack of building materials.”
Ethan goes on to question her about her work so far, and some of the others join in. I sit back and sip my whiskey, amused to watch her light up as she talks about her work.
After a while, she asks one of the others a question, and the conversation moves on to other topics.
She leans back in her chair and sips her wine again, then finally looks at me. “I’m impressed,” she says. “Nobody else guessed why I was studying bird bones.”
“Your brain works on a different level from everyone else’s,” I reply. “No way were you only interested in tracheal rings. You were always going to do something amazing, Lora. You know this could revolutionize the archaeology of early sites in this country? The date of the arrival of humans here is being pushed back all the time, and it will really help to pinpoint when the first settlers actually landed.”
Color creeps into her cheeks. “Thank you,” she says. “I know you’re going to laugh, but it means a lot, coming from you. Not just as my friend, but as an archaeologist.”
We study each other, adjusting to the fact that we both respect what the other has achieved. We both love the subject, and it means more to see how far we’ve risen, when we started together all those years ago, lying in the makeshift tent, reading that atlas.
“I miss those days,” she says, obviously following the same train of thought as me.
“Me too.” I think about how different my life might have been if Atticus hadn’t freaked out at our kiss. We would have dated for a few years, gone to the cinema or skating, taken long walks in the evenings, just the two of us, and talked and kissed, although I’d never have let it go further than that, no matter what her father thought. And then once she turned sixteen, I’d have asked his permission to marry her, and then we’d have grown up together, maybe even gone to university together, and flourished with the safe security of our friends and family around us.
Instead, we were torn apart, and although we’ve both clawed our way back to relative success, it’s been so much harder than I’m sure it would have been if we’d had each other for support.
All those wasted years. My heart aches to think about it.
On the stage, someone is currently belting out a terrible version of Bon Jovi’s Living on a Prayer and having a great time. Elora gives a short laugh and looks across at the singer. “Talk about ruin the mood.”
I smile, but my gaze lingers on her. She looks young, and healthy, and so incredibly full of life.
“Sing a song with me,” I say.
Her head snaps back, her eyes startled. “What! No! Absolutely not.”
“I know you can sing, Elora-Rose.”
“That’s not the point.”
“You have a lovely voice. So come on, let’s sing a duet.”
“Oh my God, Linc, stop it. Why do you have to keep pushing me?”
“Because it’s fun.”
We continue to bicker while the next few people take the stage and sing equally badly, and eventually she winces and says, “Jesus, you know I’m actually tempted.”
“Excellent,” I say. “What shall we sing?”
“I didn’t… oh what the hell.” She blows out a breath. “What do you suggest?”
“Something cheesy. What duets do you know?”
We settle on Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers’ Islands in the Stream , with Elora insisting she can do Dolly’s harmonies, and I go up to the organizer and put our names forward for the next space.
We’ve just managed to finish our drinks when our names are called, and an enthusiastic round of applause meets our arrival on the stage.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she mutters as we collect our microphones and move to the center of the stage. “There are so many people here!”
“Look at me,” I tell her, turning her so she’s facing me. “We’re singing to each other, okay?”
She nods. “Okay.” She glances down at herself. “I don’t really have the required figure for this.”
I chuckle. “Get ready.”
The music starts, and I dance a little to it, making her laugh, then begin singing Kenny’s words.
When it’s her turn to come in with Dolly’s part, she joins in, dancing a little as she sings the harmony, hitting the high notes perfectly.
I meant this as a joke, and because I meant it when I said it was fun to push her out of her comfort zone, but as we sing the chorus, I’m surprised that actually we sound really good together. And when we sing that this could be the year for the real thing, goosebumps spring up all over my skin.
We make it to the end without a single mistake, and everyone cheers as we take a bow and descend the steps. I grin as I lead her back to our table and hold up a hand as everyone sitting around it whoops and claps.
“Autographs available for a fee,” I tell them, making them laugh.
Elora is flushed and her eyes are sparkling. “Cold drink this time?” I ask, and she nods, so I get up and order us both a Sprite Zero over ice from the bar and bring the two glasses back.
The competition continues, with some of the competitors giving us a good run for our money, but when it comes to the results and prizes, we discover we’ve come second, and go up to collect a small trophy and our prize—a box of chocolates.
“Woo!” Elora waves the trophy as we return to our seats. “I think that’s the first trophy I’ve ever won, apart from a spelling bee when I was twelve.”
“This was much more fun.”
“I have to agree with you.” We sit back at the table and sip our drinks, then look up as the lights are lowered and the organizers declare it’s time for some dancing. There’s a small dance floor in front of the stage and a DJ stands off to the side, opening the music with the Bee Gees’ Staying Alive . Disco lights start flashing, and the music, while not loud enough to drown out conversation, vibrates through the floor, all the way up through me.
“I love disco,” I tell her. Feeling adventurous, I put down my drink, get to my feet, and hold out my hand. “Come on, Cinderella.”
She stares at me in shock for, like, the fifteenth time that evening. “You’re kidding me.”
“Look at my face. Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“The music has just started, Linc.”
“I know. It’s a brilliant song.”
“Nobody’s dancing yet.”
“Someone has to be first.”
“But it doesn’t have to be us.”
It’s impossible to stay still with the beat in my veins, and I start dancing in front of her. “Come on. Make my day.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m not stopping,” I tell her. “I’m going to stand in front of you for the whole song if I have to.”
“Have at it,” she says. “I’m not getting up.”
I purse my lips. It’s going to be kinda embarrassing if she doesn’t join me. People are already starting to look.
But I was never one to flinch first when playing chicken. I want to dance with Elora, and I’m going to stand here until she’s so embarrassed at how I’m making a fool of myself that she’ll have to get up.
*
Elora
Ho-lee shit… Linc is standing in front of me, dancing, and it doesn’t look as if he’s going to stop anytime soon.
Most men I know, including my father, Fraser, and Joel, can just about manage a shuffle around the dance floor with a partner, but they draw the line at disco dancing, too self-conscious to get up there and boogie.
Linc, unsurprisingly, has no such worry. Wow, the dude can move. He moves perfectly to the music, clapping his hands occasionally, and at one point does a spin on the spot that makes those around him cheer.
He’s hoping to embarrass me into getting up, but there’s no way I’m being the first on the dance floor. So I sit back, fold my arms, and glower at him a little.
Unperturbed, he gives a short laugh and continues, throwing himself into his little routine. Oh man, he’s really going for it. People are starting to clap along with the music, enjoying his performance, and as he moves closer to me, the whistles start.
He’s now standing just a foot away, and he slows down his movements and starts dancing more sensually, winding his hips, fixing his gaze on mine. Oh shit, he’s giving me a fucking lap dance in front of everyone. My face heats until it burns, and he notices, but he just grins and carries on. He’s really not going to stop. Well, it’s his own fault if he makes a fool of himself.
I think he’s starting to realize that I’m not giving in. He’s still dancing, but his brows draw together, and he says, “Aw, Lora, come on…”
I’m about to shake my head when I glance around and realize that everyone’s watching us. They’re all cheering, and several of the women gesture at me as I catch their eye and mouth, “Go on!” I look at Alethea, and I can see the pity on her face, not for me but for Linc, who’s standing there in front of everyone, dancing just for me, and now on the verge of embarrassing himself if I don’t get up.
I blow out a breath, cursing him silently, then extend a hand, and he whoops and takes it, pulling me to my feet. The crowd cheers as he leads me to the dance floor, and I thank the gods that I’ve had two glasses of wine tonight, because as he spins me into his arms, I put aside my insecurities and shyness and start dancing. I know that half—if not all—the women in the room would give everything they own to be in my shoes. So screw it—what’s the worst that can happen?
I try not to think about falling over in my high heels and making a complete fool of myself, and instead dance with the gorgeous man in front of me. I don’t remember him dancing much as a kid—it must have been something he got into as an adult—but he’s super good at it, and he moves so well. He slides an arm around my waist, and we move together for a while, and then we move apart and dance separately. I’ll never be as abandoned as he is, but I throw myself into it, and when the song comes to an end, the whole room cheers and claps, while Linc spins me into his arms, and we both laugh.
September by Earth, Wind, and Fire comes on, and Linc raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes and nod, and so we begin dancing to that, too.
In the end, we don’t stop for over an hour. We dance to Boogie Nights, Off the Wall, Disco Inferno , and several others I haven’t heard of. And then the DJ moves on to slow songs, starting with one of my favorites, Billy Paul’s Me and Mrs Jones .
Linc pulls me into his arms and takes my hand in his, and I sigh as I look up at him. There are quite a few more couples on the dance floor now, and more join us for this slow song, but for once, even though we’re surrounded, I don’t feel nervous. Maybe it’s the wine, or perhaps the fact that I feel comfortable with these people who understand my passion, but I think mainly it’s being so close to this guy and having the feeling that he’d lay his life on the line for me, if he had to.
We dance without speaking through the whole song, Linc singing softly, his deep voice reverberating through me. It’s getting late now, and they’ve lowered the lights, and there are more people on the dance floor. When the song changes to Barbra Streisand’s Woman in Love , I shiver, and I think he mistakes it for nerves because of all the couples crowding in on the tiny floor. He pulls me toward him a little more, his arms tightening protectively around me.
I tuck my head into his neck, the words making me flush a little. I am in love with him. Does he know that? Has he guessed? Oh God, of course he has, I’ve babbled about how I feel about him enough times. I haven’t said it in so many words, but he must realize that’s how I feel.
Does he feel the same way about me?
He said: We’re going to have to make a decision when the time comes… I stay. I leave. Or you come with me . He does have feelings for me. How can I doubt that? But he’s right; we’ve only been together for a few days. It’s like a holiday romance, with everything heightened because we know our time is limited. Holiday romances never work out. I can’t start thinking about making big changes in my life, or forcing him to make big changes, just because we’ve had a hot fling.
I’m overthinking again, and it’s wearing me out. I don’t want to keep angsting about the future. It’s going to spoil the present, and I’ll ruin everything, and I don’t want that.
So I push the thought out of my mind and do my best to just be in the moment. I concentrate on the feel of his arms around me, so tight, as if he wants us to become one. Which I know he does, very soon, our bodies cleaving together in the darkness as the ship rolls beneath us. I shiver, and he kisses my temple, the touch of his lips sending tingles all through me. I can smell his pirate cologne, the sweet notes of rum and coffee somehow exciting, making my pulse race. He hums along with the song, and all I can think about is him whispering in my ear, telling me all the things he wants to do to me.
I shiver again, and he moves back so he can look at me. “You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod, looking up into his eyes. They look much darker in this light, the green irises flashing multi-colored from the lasers flickering around the room.
He dips his head and touches his lips to mine. It’s hardly a passionate kiss; it takes less than a second, his mouth barely touching mine. But something shoots through me like a firework, igniting every nerve ending, sending my heart racing.
He lifts his head and looks at me. Then, without saying a word, he takes my hand and leads me off the dance floor.
The room is busy with people moving about, collecting drinks, changing seats, talking to friends, and nobody notices us wending our way through the tables, or at least if they do, no one comments on it.
When we reach the exit, he leads me wordlessly across to the elevators and presses the button to call the carriage. We wait, still not talking, our gazes locked. My heart is hammering. I’m not quite sure what’s on his mind, but the look in his eyes suggests he’s not thinking about the weather.
The doors ping and open, we go inside, and he presses the button for our floor. The doors slowly close.
Immediately, he strides across the carriage, takes my face in his hands, and crushes his lips to mine.
I gasp, my mouth opening automatically, and he takes the opportunity to plunge his tongue inside. Oh my God, I can’t catch my breath. He presses me up against the carriage wall, his body hard against mine. He takes my wrists in his hands and pins them above my head, then rocks his hips against mine, pressing his erection into my soft flesh.
I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to. My head spins and my heart bangs against my ribs, so hard I feel a little faint. I should object, I should feel scared, but I don’t, because it’s Linc, and because I want him to want me like this. I want him to claim me, to desire me, to burn for me, the same way I’m burning for him. A soft moan escapes my mouth, causing an answering groan to rumble in his throat.
Oh God, I want him so badly. I’m turning to caramel, filled with longing, and yearning for him. What the hell is happening to me?