“Oh yeah? I've never been. Always wanted to, but my ex-husband gets seasick. And he's an asshole, so there's that.” Charlotte smiled. “I’m meeting a friend on board. He got on in New York. How long is it going to take us to get on the boat, anyway?”
“Do you have a VIP card?
“No. Do I need one?”
“It lets you cut some of the lines. Without it, you’re looking at three or four hours.”
Charlotte’s enthusiasm sagged. Three or four more hours before she could even set foot on the boat, much less see Cowboy. “Ah, hell.”
4
By the timeCharlotte set foot on theGem of the Seasand got to the atrium, she was damn near exhausted. The sight of the bustling square revived her a bit, with its lush tropical plants, two stories of shops, and mirrored glass elevators rising higher than seemed possible onboard a boat. “Holy shit.”
It was crowded, and someone jostled her from behind, but she didn't mind. She was so relieved to be out of the terminal and onto the ship itself.
The tiniest drop of apprehension mingled with her excitement over seeing Cowboy. These last two years had been hard on her, mangling her self-esteem and twisting her confidence. Where she was once beyond comfortable with the opposite sex, she now seemed to be built up like a Wild West storefront — more façade than actual structure.
That was why she was here.
She could feel the chemistry between Cowboy and her, and she needed to fill herself up with that passion for a while — remember who she used to be so she could become that woman once again.
Fuck Rick and everything she’d been through. She would slay her demons with one giant dose of desirability. One week with Leo Wilson was going to go a long way toward fixing what was wrong with her life.
Toward fixing what was wrong with her.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to go to her cabin first. They’d taken her luggage already and she wanted to see Cowboy. She sucked in her stomach and flagged a passing steward. “Excuse me, honey. Can you help me find my stateroom?”
His eyes fell to her bosom and bounced back up to her eyes. “Of course. What's your room number?”
“Well, see, that's the problem. My husband and I got separated. He's the one who knows the room number.”
“Sure, I can help with that. What's your name?”
“Abby Wilson.” She was taking a gamble the other agent was posing as Leo's wife, a gamble that appeared to be correct.
The steward looked up from his cell phone. “Looks like you're in suites 8-358 and 8-360, Mrs. Wilson. Take the glass elevators to the eighth floor and turn left.”
“Thanks so much, sweetheart.” She winked.
Adrenaline zipped through her bloodstream as she turned toward the elevator. She’d been planning this trip for two weeks, and while she knew Cowboy was here, this adventure was about to get real. She pushed her shoulders back.
Breathe.
He wants you. You can see in the way he looks at you. He was damn near tripping over his own tongue at Logan's party, and here on the ship, he had no reason to play hard to get. What she was proposing was simple, really.
A fling for one week.
The elevator stopped on the eighth floor and she stepped out on shaky legs.
It's just these damn heels. They're too high, and I’ve been on my feet all fucking day.
But it wasn't the heels, and she knew it. Cowboy was down this hallway.
What if he turns you down?
Stop it. He isn’t going to do that.
She walked faster, determined not to let her second thoughts slow her down. She knocked on room 8-358. Her heart was beating wildly as the seconds ticked by. She bit her lip and knocked again. Should she try the other door? The steward had given her two room numbers. The suites must be adjoining.
