“Only if you keep selling yourself short,” he says. “You must have known Stephen only cared about himself, no?”
“I knew, but he was a great actor. When we were out in public, he treated me like a princess. I know it was all for show, future politician and all that, but I felt special.”
“Until you jumped out of that cake at his bachelor’s party,” Jordan murmured, having been briefed by my bestie who no doubt hired him.
I blink and press my lips tight for a moment. “It was the only out of the ordinary thing I ever did and it didn’t fit his script, so he exorcised me from his life.”
“You sold yourself way too short. Stick with me.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it softly, then nuzzles my palm against his jaw. “I’ll show you what it’s like to be worshipped.”
“You make promises you cannot keep.” I slip my hand from his and slide it under my thigh.
He picks up his wineglass, moving it in a toasting motion. “Let go of your doubts. If after this cruise you don’t like being worshipped, you can always go back to your mundane existence, not mattering to anyone, not meaning anything.”
“But…” I swallow over my dry throat. “You’re just doing this to prove a point.”
“Does it matter?” He swirls the wine around the bottom of the glass. “You’ll be a different person. What do you have to lose?”
Only my heart.
But I don’t tell him that. He doesn’t mean to give me his. He’s a professional pleaser of women. A guy who lives off their largesse.
I’m not rich, but I have a wealthy friend.
Once the payments dry up, he’ll be gone.
Yet. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
I tap my wineglass to his and say, “I’ll be glad to be worshipped by you.”
“You won’t regret it, my goddess. Your wish is my command.”
* * *
I’m still nervous after dinner, but I remind myself that I’m the one who’s calling the shots.
The night sky is starry, and the ocean is glassy smooth. The cruise ship is on the way around the Big Island, past Maui to dock in Honolulu the next morning.
Jordan wraps his arms around me as we wander underneath the many sprigs of mistletoe and other Christmas decorations.
Now that I’m in control, I have to decide whether to give in to my lust and sleep with him or put a stop to our physical desires.
So much responsibility being the one in charge.
He kisses me behind my ear and whispers, “Shall we retire to our cabin and exchange gifts?”
“You knew I got you a gift?” I murmur, barely moving my mouth toward his.
“You forget. I have eyes and ears, too.”
“And a hot mouth, tongue, and everything else.” I barely catch his cocky grin before letting my lips slide over his. I kiss him, smiling to myself and then take the lead back to our room.
As soon as we duck underneath the net where the ping-pong balls had been stored, he shoves me against the closed door.
I squirm against him, hot with desire, as my hands roam the angles of his body. Our lips locked together, moaning and panting, we grapple each other. Every part of my body screams for attention and need. Jordan’s touch awakens every hidden desire, every suppressed yearning, as we do that lustful stagger toward the first available horizontal surface—his bunk.
Wetness seeps through my dress, and cold chills soak the back of my spine as I realize my big mistake.
I’d booby-trapped his bunk with hundreds of tiny paper cups half-filled with water.
“Yikes!” I yelp, jerking away from the water trap.
Jordan uncovers the bed, getting his sleeve wet, and raises his eyebrow. “Guess I’m not sleeping here tonight. Is your bunk dry?”
