“You’re so sick. I’m going to tell Jade. Let me borrow your phone so I can call her. I don’t care if they charge you international roaming or whatever. Keep that nasty thing away from me!”
“You wound Mr. Top Gun here.” He puts his hand dramatically over his heart. “He’s not nasty, and he wants to be yours.”
“You mean he hasn’t been playing around with the rocket scientist and her brother?” I try not to think about the orifices and lube. “Not even the Nordic a-hole? I mean Sven?”
“Never. He’s been all yours. Catch.” He tosses the pulsating mass of plastic at me.
I catch it just in time and wrestle with the trigger to shut down the bucking and dancing cock with the space-gun sound effects. “I’ll have you know I don’t play with these things.”
He whistles and looks up and around at the ceiling. “No need to explain. I’ll keep your secret for you.”
I shove the vibrator under my pillow and sit on it. “We have to talk. I mean, seriously. When I get to port, I’m jumping ship.”
“Oh, good, that means I’ll get the room all to myself?” He blinks preciously like a girl cajoling a puppy or kitten for Christmas from indulgent parents.
“I don’t care. You were supposed to cheer me up, but you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” I cross my arms. “Spending all night with Alice, Sylvester, and Sven doing whatever unmentionable naughties with them.”
“You’re jealous,” he crows, pointing a sturdy finger at me. “Admit it.”
“Not jealous, just annoyed.”
“Jealous.”
“Annoyed.”
“Jealous.”
“I’m not doing this!” I scream. “Can’t you see I’m not amused?”
He leans in close and points up. “Mistletoe alert.”
Too late, I spy the green stem dangling over my pillow.
Oh, heck.
At least he doesn’t smell like cheese puffs and peanuts anymore.
His minty breath washes over me with the undertones of his woodsy aftershave, and thereisthat mistletoe rule.
So I kiss him.
And he kisses me back.
Then I grab him around the neck, and he grapples me, lifting me onto his lap.
Goodness gracious, the man kisses so good.
Strong smacks with just the right amount of wetness. Lips that taste as sensual as the rumbling of his deep, bass voice.
What I wouldn’t give to train him into reading erotica with me, whispering naughty words in my ears while we give voice to a joint love scene.
But Jordan is no seductive knight. He is a prankster and a joker, although he does dress up well. Even after a night out, he’s fresh, crisp, and clean, with the scent of soap, shampoo, and masculine cologne.
I could do worse these next two days at sea, but come Christmas morn, when the S.S. Bird of Paradise docks at Hilo, Hawaii, I’m off this bird and back to the mainland to track down my backstabbing bestie.
On second thought, she always said success was the best revenge.
What if?
Nah, can’t happen.
Kissing Jordan feels good, so I keep doing it.
I don’t even have the excuse of wine or swaying palm trees, white sparkling sand, seashells, and turquoise waters to be in such a faux romantic mood.
But who’s going to argue with hormones?
