“Come sit.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? You’re soaked. You might as well put your feet in.”
Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, James thought it over for a moment.
“Fine,” he relented, bending over to remove his shoes. “But if someone reports me for this—”
“No one will report you,” Cassian said, sounding playfully irritated. “Except for me. And I’m already reporting you for something far worse than sitting by the edge of the pool.”
James chortled as he ripped off his socks. Afterward, he rolled up both legs of his trousers to his knees and waddled over to the staircase. His rear end would be soaked, too, by the end of this. But he couldn’t manage to care very much. Because he wanted to make Cassian happy.
Descending the stairs, James sighed contentedly as his feet and calves became submerged in the warm saltwater. He sat, and Cassian smirked at him.
“You’re not a very responsible employee,” the man mock-chided as he swam over.
He stopped when he reached the side of the staircase. In response to the remark, James stretched out his leg and shoved Cassian’s shoulder with his foot.
Over the next thirty minutes, the two men chatted about their prior experiences swimming (Cassian bragged about having had private swimming instruction, while James regaled him with stories of trying—and failing—to swim in the River Thames on two separate, mortifying occasions). James continued to sit as Cassian floated here and there in the pool with ease.
All the while, James’s feelings for Cassian—friendly and romantic, both—rose and crashed with the movements of the ship and the waves of the illustrious swimming bath.
Chapter Five
Cassian
Seated next to Ethel in the saloon, Cassian raked a hand through his still-wet hair as he surveyed the breakfast menu. Across from him, Jacob Calbot and his wife, Ingrid, were chatting with Ethel’s mother. Meanwhile, Ethel was happily chatting with Mr. Quinn. Cassian, though, was still mentally stuck at the swimming bath. He continued to think back on the time that he’d spent with James. Remembering the lustful look on James’s face when the man had first laid eyes on him in his swimsuit, heat flooded Cassian’s veins, and he began to blush, warmth moving over what felt like every inch of his body. Soon, he needed to shift in his seat to adjust his pants. And he prayed that no one noticed.
Never had Cassian experienced such intense arousal when merely fantasizing about another person before. And Cassian had fantasized plenty over the years. About men and women both. But there was something more to these fantasies that he was having about James. Oddly, Cassian found himself not only thinking about James’s physical traits (which were exciting enough on their own) but about the whole of who the man was. Or, well, the whole of who James seemed to be, based on the limited information thatCassian had about him so far. Still, it was thrilling. Wholly and completely unexpected. Wholly and completely new.
Cassian let out a long breath and pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He’d have time to linger on them later in private if he so chose, but right now, he needed to make the most of the morning meal with his fiancée.
“Ethel, sweetheart, what are you having?” he asked in what he hoped was a happy enough tone, his question interrupting whatever she and Mr. Quinn were talking about.
“Oh, uhm, I was thinking of the salmon, perhaps, or the tomato omelet,” Ethel replied, her hands finding her necklace as she spoke.
Cassian’s eyes flickered to the necklace and then back to Ethel’s face. Even though he hadn’t meant to silently chastise her, she still lowered her hands to her lap.
“Have the salmon,” Cassian suggested, the words coming out more like a command. And maybe it was, a little. It might behoove him, though, to explain himself. “Eggs keep longer than fish, I’d think. Longer or better or both. And I’m certain that they’ll still offer omelets later in our voyage. You can enjoy one then.”
Ethel hummed. “Alright, I’ll have the salmon.”
Mr. Quinn leaned forward, clearly trying to catch Ethel’s eye.
“I was thinking of ordering the omelet myself. I could... I mean, i-if it wouldn’t be offensive to you, Miss Barrington, or—or to you, Mr. Livingston, I could share. I’d be happy to.”
Ethel’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink.
“Oh, Mr. Quinn, that’s so kind of you,” she said. “Yes, I would love that.”
Cassian rolled his eyes. “Ethel, if you want an omelet, then order an omelet. Don’t put that on Mr. Quinn. Let the man eat a proper meal.”
“Yes. Right.” Ethel nodded. “Omelet. I shall order that, then.”
“I could order the salmon instead?” Mr. Quinn said.
Raising his hand to his forehead, Cassian closed his eyes and muttered a few choice words to himself.
