Thea
I know. We are on the run, he’s keeping me safe, blah blah. The man hardly seems capable of showing affection. Then he kisses me like that? Like movie moments and teenage dreams all rolled up in one. There’s no way that was for show.
If he can play dirty, so can I.
Analyzing him won’t change anything. He’s my rescuer, nothing more.
I need a distraction, something more exciting.
I head for the exit. There is always something fun happening on a cruise. I just have to find it.
I don’t make it far before my grumpy shadow attaches himself to me, snatching my hand in his. I ignore the thrill his possessive hold sends up my arm. “Where are you going?”
“I want to dance,” I say, a healthy dose of sass coating my words.
“How about sleeping?”
“Nope. Only dancing will do.” There is a bar at the opposite end of the hall: The Rum Runners. That looks promising. I attempt to speed walk there, but the effort is made more difficult by the dead weight I’m dragging.
A group of ladies bursts from the room as we try to enter, and Pierce releases me to avoid a collision with a short brunette. The brunette stops to say something to him, and I leave him to it, eager to drown out my confusing emotions with the loud, pulsing music.
I slip into the darkened room and head straight for the dance floor. A man at the bar waves and offers me a smile over the beer he’s nursing. I offer him a polite smile in return and continue past him.
I spin around on the dance floor, catching sight of Pierce near the edge, arms crossed and looking severely displeased. That frown won’t stop me from having fun.
I bury myself in the dancing crowd and throw my hands in the air, letting loose. The dead body, the memory loss, the man shooting at us, an earth-shattering kiss that meant nothing… I let all the weight tumble off my shoulders, knowing it will inevitably return.
I just need to put it down for a second. I close my eyes as if I’m the only person in the world.
Hands slip around my waist, and I gasp.
“Pierce?”
“Hey beautiful.” It’s the man with the beer. He’s clutching me as tightly as he had his alcohol.
I rear back, gagging on the heavy stench on his breath. “Oh, I’m not…” I try to extricate myself, but his hold tightens.
“Don’t be shy; I know you saw me.” With flushed cheeks, he looks one blow from falling over. “I’m a great dancer.” He takes my hand and forces me out in a spin.
I smash into a wall.
My shoulder takes the brunt. “Ow.” The wall reaches out and snatches me free of my dance partner.
“Hey man, we were dancing,” the drunk guy bellows.
“My wife only dances with me.” Pierce’s tone is low and gruff—a warning that he’s one second from tearing this man apart limb by limb like a lion.
The drunk man staggers again and falls into a couple who give him another shove. He spins around until he can’t seem to remember why he was on the dance floor in the first place and heads back to the bar.
I gape at him. Then at my bodyguard.
“You just “my wife’d” me. Again.”
His hold on my waist is tight, but not uncomfortable. Territorial. And I like it far too much.
Pierce blinks. “What?”
“You came in here all sexy and jealous and said, “'that’s my wife’” It’s like my all-time favorite book trope.”
His lips pull down. “Sounds made up.”
“Oh, it’s real.” And it’s severely underrated.
“I was just protecting you from him,” he says, dropping his hands from around my waist and taking a step back.
“Nope. I heard you loud and clear. You want to dance with me.” I pick up his hand, spinning myself, before returning to his chest. I will force him to dance if I must.
“Do I have a choice?”
“You did choose to save me, so by default you chose this.” I slip my fingers through his, holding our connected hands in the air as I sway my hips. His fingers clamp down around mine. He snatches my hip with his other hand and spins me into him. My back hits his chest, and he keeps me there.
“No one else was going to save you. You needed me. You still do.” His hot breath burns my neck, turning me to putty in his very strong arms.
“I…” I falter and fight against a tremble through my body.
“Tell me you don’t.” His lips skim my skin, and warmth pools in my stomach.
I can’t, and he knows it. He’s hit my weak spot.
“Fine. I need you. Happy?”
“Then you need to let me protect you. Stop evading me. And stop flirting with other men.” There’s an edge to his words that grows harder with each syllable, his tight grip on my hip punctuating his statement.
He’s unnerving me. Making me crazy and breathless at the same time. Setting fire to my skin. Time for revenge.
“I’ll do you one better.” I spin in his arms and loop my hands around his neck. “Let’s get married.”
His body turns to stone. “W-what?”
On the outside, I’m dead serious; on the inside, I want to laugh in his face. “You felt that kiss. That was magic.” I bat my eyelashes for extra effect. “You may be… the one.”
He attempts to pull out of my arms but must have forgotten how to use his muscles. It’s a shame they are just for show. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stutters.
I arch on my toes, bringing my lips as close to his cheek as my height allows. “Really? Because I think you want me. I think you want me more than I need you.”
His head tilts in confusion. “No.”
I drag my hand over his shoulder, running it down his pec, stopping right above his heart. The erratic beat thumps beneath my palm. “Prove you don’t.”
The loud and wild party is utterly silent as his striking, desperate gaze locks with mine. My heart leaps into my throat.
“You—” He jerks fully out of my arms. “You’re toying with me.”
I can't fight my grin. “You did it first.”
He drags a hand down his face. “You’re manipulative.”
“Maybe you’re just weak.”
He glowers, clearly not appreciating my teasing as he stalks toward the bar.
“Oh, come on.” I latch onto his arm. “You have to admit it’s a plan worth considering. What better way to protect me than marry me?”
He looks over at me, his expression shadowed in the dim light. “Did you just propose?”
“Did you just respond?” I bite back a smile. “You might have to clarify: was that a yes or a no?”
“Would you stop talking about this?” He rasps. He motions to the bartender, who sets a full glass in front of him, and he downs it in one long drink.
“I see you need some time to get used to the idea of marriage.” I whisper the last word as if it’s a curse. “Good thing we are already playing pretend.”
“We’re no—” He sighs.
I take the cup from his hand, put it on the bar, and drag him onto the dance floor. If we're going to play pretend, might as well enjoy it. I'm going to get this man to smile.
I move my body to the music as if I know what I’m doing. I dance around him without a care in the world while he stands there, staring at me, like a stick in the mud.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re boring?” I yell.
“Not if they knew what was good for them.”
I’m going to get this man to do something fun if it’s the last thing I do. He’s saving me from danger; I intend to save him from himself.
“Let’s get ice cream.”
“I hate cruise ships.”
“Or we could gamble.” The music fades as we leave the bar.
“We are already taking a gamble by being out of our room.”
“Ice cream it is.”
The ice cream shop is closed, but the soft-serve machine in the buffet could be open. We head for that one. The buffet is closed as well but the only thing holding me back from entering is a low dangly rope. Hardly intimidating after facing life and death.
Should I? I’ve never broken in anywhere. I have been meaning to try something new.
I step over it, a small thrill coursing through my veins.
I’m officially a bad girl.
“What are you doing?” Pierce asks, bored… yet almost—almost—amused.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid to break the rules,” I taunt from the other side of the velvet rope.
He lifts a single brow. “I’m not. I’m afraid of you doing it. You’re a walking disaster.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “I’ll have you know, I’ve survived twenty-seven trips around the sun.”
“But the single trip to Mexico nearly did you in.”
“I can’t believe you went there.” My jaw drops even as I try not to laugh. “Fine, stay out here, baby.”
“You’re kind of pushy.” Just as I thought he would, he steps over the rope and into my space.
“Yet people pay to talk to me,” I retort.
“How lucky I am.” His gruffness ripples over my skin in the most ridiculously pleasing way.
“You’re welcome.” I pat his chest. Pierce follows me around the small island to where the soft-serve machine is.
“There aren’t any cups or cones,” I whisper.
I test the handle. A few drops of chocolate leak out, followed by a thick form of ice cream. Whoever was supposed to turn it off must have forgotten. I grin over at Pierce.
He flinches. “Please don’t use your hands.”
“That would be barbaric.” I angle my face under the stream instead. My mouth fills with ice cream faster than I expected, and I stand up. More ice cream comes with me, and I laugh as it hits my chin.
Pierce watches me, a hint of humor in his eyes. He grabs a stack of napkins and holds them out to me.
I cradle them to my chin as I swallow the ice cream, receiving an instant brain freeze for my efforts. “Your turn.”
“No, thank you.”
“I dare you.”
“A dare, really?”
I lick at my lips, and he tracks the movement. My stomach heats with the extra attention. “Then you owe me a truth.”
His lips twitch, and he holds out both hands, beckoning me on. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Freckles.”
“All right…” I tap my chin dramatically. I’ve been trying to get into his head since I met him, so I know he won’t appreciate a personal question. We’ll keep it simple for now. “What do you like most about me?”
“No comment.”
“That doesn’t count.”
His grin turns playful. “Then I guess I’ll have to think. You’re kind of annoying.”
I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Rude!”
“If I had to choose one thing…” He leans closer until the woodsy scent of his cologne reaches me. “I like how you kiss.”
My cheeks flame, and I forget for a moment we are playing a game.
“You’re a go-getter. The butt slap should have clued me in.” He draws back with a smirk, but I can barely breathe. “You asked.”
Now I have a million more questions. Looks like our game has just begun.