Chapter 3
3
HANNAH
I decided it was time to take a break and head up to my room for a the night. I headed down the bustling hallway of the Infinity Voyager, my curvy hips swaying with a bit more sass than necessary. Laughter and the chink of glasses from the nearby Opulent Oasis Martini Bar tried to lure me into their bubbly embrace, but I was on a mission to shake off the day. The taste of being fired still clung like bitter residue, no matter how many scoops of gourmet ice cream I drowned it in.
"Come on, Hannah," I muttered to myself, "you're here for fun, not to brood over Nick freaking Carrington."
But as if summoned by the sheer force of my determination to forget, that very man—Nick, aka the ex-boss from hell—stepped out of a doorway just as I swept past. Our collision was as inevitable as it was catastrophic. His solid frame felt like running into a brick wall—a very warm, flesh-covered brick wall that smelled faintly of sandalwood and something undeniably masculine.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I exclaimed.
A pair of strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me. My face was inches from his chest, the fabric of his shirt soft against my cheek. I blinked up at him, my heart slamming against my ribs.
“I could ask the same,” Nick said.
My gaze traveled upward, taking in the imposing figure before me. Nick Carrington was a living mountain of a man—6'4" and built like he wrestled bears for fun. His brown hair was styled just short enough to be considered professional, yet long enough to hint at a wilder side. The beginnings of a beard framed his jaw, which was currently clenched in surprise. Tattoos peeked from beneath the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves, adding an edge to his otherwise imposing businessman aura. Those striking green eyes widened as they locked on mine, an unreadable expression flickering across his face.
"Nick?" My voice hitched. Here? Now? What were the odds?
"Didn't expect to see you here, Hannah," he rumbled, the deep timbre of his voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"Neither did I." The understatement of the year. His presence felt as disruptive as a storm at sea.
"Small world," he said, though there was nothing small about him or the shock waves crashing through me.
Nick's presence loomed over me, a physical force that seemed to suck the air from the corridor. My pulse quickened, the way it always did when he was near—except now it was tinged with a bitter edge.
"Look, we should..." My words trailed off as I searched for something neutral, something that wouldn't betray how his sudden appearance had rattled me.
"Talk?" His suggestion came out more like a command, and I bristled at the tone.
"Actually, I was thinking 'avoid each other,'" I snapped back, crossing my arms in an effort to fortify myself against the intimidating breadth of his shoulders. "But since fate—or this cruise ship—seems to have other plans..." I let the sentence hang, challenging him with my gaze.
"About your job—" Nick started, but I cut him off.
"About how you fired me without any explanation? Yeah, let's talk about that." The words poured out, hot and fast. I wanted answers and I wanted them now.
Nick's clenched jaw was a detail I couldn't overlook, a crack in his otherwise impenetrable facade. His green eyes, usually cool and distant, flickered with something akin to conflict as they met mine. The hallway of the Infinity Voyager felt too narrow, the air between us charged with an intensity that had nothing to do with our argument.
"Look," he finally rumbled, his voice a low growl that sent an unbidden shiver down my spine, "I didn't want to fire you, Hannah." His words hit me like a wave, unexpected and sudden.
My fiery gaze locked onto his. I was searching for any hint of deceit in those deep pools of emerald that seemed to hold secrets heavier than the anchor of this massive ship. "You didn't?" I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.
"No, I didn't," he admitted, and I could see it cost him to say it out loud. This was Nick Carrington, CEO, former military man—unyielding, commanding—who never explained himself to anyone. Yet here he stood before me, a sliver of vulnerability showing through his armor.
"Then why?" My question hung there, suspended in the salty sea air that drifted through the open windows along the corridor.
"Because I had no choice," Nick said, his tone strained as if each word were being dragged from him.
It was infuriating and somehow intoxicating—the mix of his authoritative presence and the rare glimpse of his inner turmoil. It made my heart race and my body respond in ways that were entirely inappropriate given our circumstances.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I challenged, taking a step closer without realizing it. In response, his hand lifted slightly as if he wanted to reach out but thought better of it, letting it fall back to his side.
"Probably not," he conceded, his gaze never leaving mine. "But it's the truth."
In that moment, surrounded by the opulence of the cruise ship, the two of us might as well have been alone in the world. The tension that simmered between us was a dangerous cocktail of anger, confusion, and an undeniable attraction that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
"Truth or not, it doesn't change what happened," I pointed out, trying to regain some semblance of the upper hand.
"Maybe not," Nick said, his voice softer now, the gruff edge worn away by the conversation. "But we can't change the past. We can only deal with what's in front of us."
And what was in front of us was a tangled mess of emotions, a collision of past grievances and a present, potent desire. Every instinct told me to turn and run, yet here I stood, rooted to the spot by the pull of the man who'd turned my world upside down with a single, devastating decision.
"Deal with what's in front of us?" My voice hitched, betraying the turmoil inside me. The anger that had fueled my confrontation with Nick was no longer a raging fire but a flickering flame, kept alive by confusion rather than certainty. It wasn't forgiveness that cooled my temper—it was doubt, sneaking in through the cracks of his admission.
Nick's jaw worked as if he were chewing on his next words, and I noticed the subtle shift in his stance, the way his shoulders seemed to bear an invisible weight. "I didn't enjoy letting you go, Hannah," he said, the timbre of his voice resonating like a low rumble of thunder. "I?—"
"Didn't have a choice, yeah, you mentioned that." I crossed my arms defensively, yet my gaze lingered on him, searching his face for the sincerity I hoped wasn't just wishful thinking. His eyes, those deep pools of green, held mine with an intensity that threatened to unravel me.
"Look, this isn't the place to discuss it," Nick murmured, casting a glance over my shoulder at the passersby who pretended not to eavesdrop. His expression hardened into the authoritative mask I remembered so well, the CEO ready to direct his troops with a single command.
"Then where?" I asked, my voice softer now, the edge blunted by the possibility that I might have misjudged the situation.
"Somewhere we can talk without an audience." He gestured to a nearby corridor that promised a reprieve from prying eyes.
"Fine." I nodded, not trusting myself to say more. Every cell in my body screamed caution, but curiosity and an unresolved need for closure propelled me forward. We moved together, a dance of two adversaries cautiously circling the truth.
"Lead the way, Mr. Carrington." The title came out laced with sarcasm, a protective veneer over the vulnerability he'd unwittingly coaxed to the surface.
"Always so formal, Hannah," he teased, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. But the levity in his voice couldn't mask the undercurrent of something else, something that crackled in the air between us like static before a storm.
I trailed behind Nick, my heels clicking rhythmically on the polished floor of the Infinity Voyager. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, but Nick navigated the turns with a confidence that spoke of his military past. He didn't look back, not even once, and I couldn't decide if it was arrogance or a test—a challenge to see if I'd actually follow.
"Almost there," he called over his shoulder as we took a sharp left, veering towards the stern of the ship.
"Where are you taking me?" I demanded, though my voice lacked the bite I intended. It was hard to stay furious when the ocean breeze began to tease my hair, whispering promises of peace and tranquility.
"Somewhere private," he replied without slowing his pace.
It was a deck I hadn't known existed, nestled between lifeboats and overlooking the vast expanse of the Caribbean Sea. The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, casting the water in hues of liquid gold and fiery orange. I stepped out onto the deck, drawn by the beauty of the scene, momentarily forgetting the man who caused the storm within me.
"Nice view," I muttered, leaning against the railing. The anger that had fueled me was ebbing, leaving room for other, more dangerous emotions to surface.
"Figured you'd appreciate the privacy... and the view," Nick said. There was something different in the way he spoke—less commanding, more... human.
"Privacy for what? So you can dodge my questions without an audience?" I asked, turning to face him. Despite my attempt at staying mad, the sight of him against the backdrop of the endless sea made my breath hitch. His towering frame was outlined by the setting sun, casting him in a light that softened the hard edges I remembered so well.
"Look, Hannah," he started, running a hand through his brown hair in a rare show of frustration. "Firing you wasn't personal."
"Could've fooled me," I shot back. But my heart wasn't in the fight. Not here. Not now.
"Believe what you want, but it was business. Complicated business." His green eyes searched mine, pleading for understanding.
"Complicated how?" I challenged, crossing my arms. There was a heat in his gaze that had nothing to do with the tropical climate, and it sent a thrill of anticipation down my spine.
"Can't say just yet," he admitted, and the vulnerability in his voice was almost my undoing.
"Convenient," I retorted, but the sarcasm felt hollow. We stood there, locked in a moment where the air crackled with words unsaid and touches ungiven. The sound of the waves crashing against the hull underscored the tension, a rhythmic reminder of the push and pull between us.
"Nick," I said, my resolve melting into the salt-laden air. "Why did you bring me out here?"
“I think you know why, Hannah," he murmured, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming, consuming—like the ocean itself.
"Tell me," I insisted, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Because I made a mistake," he confessed, and those four words shifted something fundamental between us.
"Nick, I—" My protest was cut short by the proximity of his body to mine. Every instinct screamed to close the gap, to erase the distance with the press of skin against skin. But I held back, clinging to the remnants of my anger like a lifeline.
The space between us was charged, like the static before a storm. Nick's green eyes held mine, intense and unflinching. "I need you to understand," he said, and every syllable vibrated through me, leaving a trail of goosebumps along my arms.
"Understand what?" I countered. My voice sounded breathless, betraying the cool composure I aimed for.
"Us," he whispered, stepping closer still. His hand found its way to my arm, fingers gently encircling my wrist. The touch was light but it scorched, sending heat flooding through me.
"Us?" I repeated, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. There was no 'us.’ There was heat. There was definitely attraction. But we never acted upon it.
"Damn it, Hannah," he growled, his grip tightening ever so slightly. I should have pulled away, but instead, I leaned into the contact, craving more of the fire that sparked wherever his skin met mine.
"Nick..." My protest died in my throat as he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his rough fingertips grazing my cheek. The moment felt intimate, too intimate, and yet I couldn't bring myself to break it.
"Tell me you don't feel this," he challenged, his gaze boring into mine with a ferocity that made my knees weak.
I opened my mouth to deny it, to throw his words back in his face, but the truth was as clear as the unwavering stare he leveled at me. "I?—"
Before I could finish, his other hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me forward. His lips crashed against mine with a desperation that matched the wild rhythm of my heart. It was a searing kiss, full of all the unsaid things, the anger, the confusion, the raw emotion that had been simmering beneath the surface.
For a moment—a brief, reckless moment—I gave in, kissing him back with equal fervor, my hands finding their way to his broad shoulders. But then reality slammed into me like a wave breaking against the ship's hull, and I tore myself away.
"Nick... we can't do this," I gasped, my breathing erratic, my lips still burning from his touch.
"Why?" The word was a growl, filled with frustration and something else—something that looked suspiciously like pain.
"Because you can't just fire me and then think everything is fine because we happen to both be on this—" I waved my hand around, encompassing the vast ocean and the luxury of the Infinity Voyager that suddenly felt too small, "—stupid cruise!"
“You’re right,” he snapped, his jaw clenching so hard I thought it might crack. “I’m supposed to be focused on business.”
And then, without another word, he turned his back to me.
Anger surged within me, hot and righteous. I watched the rigid set of his shoulders for a moment, memorizing the intricate tattoos that peeked out from under his shirt, a vivid reminder of the enigma that was Nick Carrington. Then, with a huff that did little to release the tension coiling inside me, I spun on my heel and walked away, leaving him standing alone on the quiet deck.
But even as I stormed off, I knew that whatever this was between us, it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.