She listened to their friendly banter while perusing the extensive menu. As the empty chair on her right was drawn back, her skin prickled disturbingly. A sensation she associated with the hives she’d been unfortunate enough to bear several times when a strawberry came within a whiff of her.
However, this prickle had nothing to do with fruit. This time something far more dangerous to her health—well, to her peace of mind—caused her skin to flush and tingle.
‘Hi, everyone. I’m Zac McCoy, Public Relations Manager. I’m delighted you’ll be joining me for meals at my table. On behalf of the ship’s company, the Captain and the crew, we hope you enjoy your cruise.’
Fate liked to play jokes on her. Maybe she should take out a lottery ticket and be done with it.
Resisting the urge to surreptitiously scratch the flushed skin behind her ears, she tried to ignore her erratic pulse which had shifted into overdrive the minute he sat down. She toyed with the cutlery, pleated her napkin, and successfully avoided looking at him until the table introductions reached her.
‘How are you, Lana?’
He flashed that killer smile, blue eyes glinting with amusement.
‘Fine, thanks.’
That’s it. Slay him with scintillating conversation. For a professional who gave presentations weekly—as painful as it was, speaking in front of her peers—she was doing a marvellous job appearing to be a brainless bimbo.
While the voluptuous blonde on his right distracted him, she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek. Smooth, suave and sexy. He was exactly the type of guy any sane woman would stay away from: a glib, good-looking charmer, with the body of Adonis and a face designed to turn heads. Way out of her league.
As dinner proceeded she remained silent, toying with her food, faking polite smiles. She’d never been a flirt, like Beth, and sitting next to a guy like Zac had her tongue-tied. Probably for the best, as she doubted he’d be interested in the latest marsupial display in the Australian Gallery, or in hearing her expound the virtues of digital cataloguing. Though her reticence was barely noticed as he maintained a steady flow of conversation, captivating everyone at the table.
During dessert—a light chocolate soufflé that melted in her mouth—he turned towards her.
‘You’re awfully quiet. Maybe we should get to know each other better?’
His bold stare scanned her face, focusing briefly on her mouth before returning to her eyes, and admiration tinged with something more—something that made her heart go pitter-patter—glittered in those blue depths.
‘Maybe. Though I should warn you. I’m single, and probably hungrier than a piranha.’
His smile slipped as he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin, those vivid eyes never leaving hers for a second. She blinked to break the hypnotic contact.
‘You overheard me earlier?’
‘Yeah, and your opinion of women on cruises sucks.’
She silently applauded her bravado—fuelled by indignation—even while cringing at her outburst. Antagonising him wouldn’t be conducive to remaining unnoticed, which was what she’d hoped for if she had to sit next to him every night for the next two weeks.
His eyes deepened to midnight, dark and challenging, as he leaned towards her.
‘Care to change my mind?’
‘And disillusion you because I’m not the man-hunter you think I am?’ She eased back, needing some distance between them before she leaned into him and lapped up some of that delicious citrusy-sea-air scent he exuded. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’
‘Oh, I think it could be fun,’ he said.
His gaze dipped to her mouth again, lingered before sweeping back to her eyes. and she flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips, which tingled as if he’d physically touched her.
‘And seeing as you think I’m a judgmental idiot, you would take a lot of convincing.’ His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Which could equate to a lot of fun.’
‘I didn’t say you were an idiot.’
He chuckled—a rich, deep sound which washed over her in a warm wave. ‘You didn’t have to. You’ve got very expressive eyes.’
‘Must be the contacts.’
Her dry response elicited more laughter.
‘Look, I’d really like to clear the air between us. I honestly didn’t mean anything by what you overheard. It was merely an observation from working on these tugs too long.’
She opened her mouth to respond and he held up a hand. ‘Yes, it was a sweeping generalisation. And, yes, I’m suitably chastened and I apologise. But tell me, Lana Walker, which are you?’
He leaned closer. So close she couldn’t breathe without imprinting his seductive scent on her receptors. ‘Husband-hunter or fun fling girl?’
She reared back, knowing now was the time to clam up as she usually did, before she scolded him like a tardy student. As she compressed her lips into an unimpressed line she noticed the teasing sparkle in his eyes, the cheeky smile playing about his mouth.
‘You’re trying to wind me up.’
‘Is it working?’
‘No.’
‘So I could say anything and you’d be totally immune to me?’
Immune? She could have a hospital’s worth of vaccinations against suave sailors and it still wouldn’t give her guaranteed immunity—the type of immunity she needed more and more urgently the longer he stared at her with those twinkling eyes.
‘That’s right.’
‘So I could say you intrigue me and you wouldn’t react?’
‘Nope.’
‘What about if I tell you I think there’s more to you than the obvious?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s the same as intrigue, so you need to come up with a better line, sailor boy.’
‘Sailor boy?’
A slow grin spread across his face as she mentally slapped a hand over her mouth.
Nicknames implied camaraderie. Nicknames implied fun. And there was no way she’d be foolish enough to ever contemplate having fun with him.
‘Figure of speech.’ She pleated her napkin, folding it over and over with origami-like precision, till he reached over and stilled her hand, setting her pulse rocketing as she tried not to flinch from his touch.
‘What if I said I like you?’
Taking a great gulp of air to ease her constricted lungs, she frowned. ‘You’re still trying to wind me up. And you’re good. I’ll give you that much.’
She extracted her hand on the pretext of picking up her wine glass, racking her brain for an easy way to end this conversation before she blurted out exactly how wound up she was by his teasing. The nape of her neck prickled. A colony of ants had taken up residence under her skin, and her blood flowed thick and sluggish, heating her from the inside out. Logically, she knew it was merely a physiological response—a simple chemical reaction to the first male to enter her personal space in a long time. But logic wouldn’t untie her tongue or stop the rising blush from making her feel more gauche and awkward than ever in a social situation like this.
Smiling, he picked up his own wine glass and raised it in her direction.
‘You