“You haven’t,” Cassian clipped, a small spark of irritation flaring inside him.
“But—”
“James.”
James recoiled, releasing the plate. And since Cassian hadn’t stopped pulling on it, he inadvertently jerked the plate toward himself, causing one of the pieces of steak to flop over the edge and land in his lap. James’s hands flew to his mouth, and as a result, he released the empty serving tray, which then landed on the floor with a clatter. Several people gasped. Heat rushed to Cassian’s cheeks. James’s face, too, turned a vibrant shade of red. Cassian shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, his heartbeat now thundering in his ears.
“Oh no!” Ethel exclaimed.
Cassian pushed past his embarrassment and tried to catch James’s eyes.
“I’m not mad,” he said, keeping his voice even.
Onlypartiallya lie. Cassian was, in fact, a little mad. About many, many things.
Rather than reply, James remained frozen in shock. Cassian needed to help him.
“I’m not mad,” he tried for a second time. “ButI’d like to have a couple of extra napkins, for obvious reasons, as well as a new plate of food. Whether the sauce is served over the meat or on the side is immaterial to me, so long as it isn’t in my lap.”
Cassian forced a strained smile, one that probably wasn’t very convincing considering how rattled he felt in that moment, not to mention the irritation still coursing through his veins.
“Sorry,” James eked out in a whisper before turning to leave.
Cassian watched him walk out of the saloon. Humiliated.
Letting out a sigh, Cassian brought his fingers to his forehead. Ethel placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Goodness, how unprofessional it was of him to hurry off like that.”
Muscles immediately tensing, Cassian bit his tongue to keep himself from chastising her for the comment. Because, unfortunately, Ethel was right.Of courseJames was being unprofessional. But the poor man was onlybeingunprofessional because Cassian had hurt him. He’d been curt with James earlier in the lounge, and he hadn’t made up for it, even a little.
Whatever had transpired between them back then had been Cassian’s fault. Either equally or wholly, Cassian wasn’t certain, but regardless, James had been nothing but sweet, both then and now.
Cassian glared at the hunk of meat in his lap, pinched it between his fingers so that he could lift it, and then plopped it back onto his plate.
“If you’ll all excuse me, I need to change.” He stood up slowly. “It looks as though I’ll be having my meal in my room this evening.”
Cassian started toward the reception room, the faint, apologetic responses of his companions only a murmur in his ears as he walked off. He headed for the elevators.
Once Cassian was inside one of them, he looked over at the steward manning it and asked, “Where would a crew member—specifically, a first-class steward—most likely be in between their shifts?”
“Scotland Road, I would think,” the elevator steward replied.
“Perfect.” Cassian smoothed his lapels. “Scotland Road, then.”
Chapter Eight
James
Sitting on the edge of his bunk bed, James inhaled a series of fast breaths. One of his legs bounced erratically as his heart continued to hammer, the constant, frantic movement of his leg the only thing keeping him from collapsing in on himself.
Oh, God, he couldn’t even begin to make sense of the intense shame and remorse he felt over what he knew, logically, had only been a small mistake. But that mistake—that foolish little error—felt enormous right now. Because it wasn’t about the horseradish sauce, or even about the subsequent faux pas that had resulted in Cassian’s trousers becoming slathered in it, but about the horrible, heart-wrenching realization that he was failing to be whatever Cassian needed him to be.
And, worst of all, he couldn’t even figure out what that something exactly was.
Earlier, in the lounge, James had nearly ruined their friendship by blathering on about the concept of romantic love. He’d only been trying to be helpful when he’d first brought it up, hoping that by encouraging Cassian to think about love, the man might have then been able to surmise whether the cause of his fiancée’s so-called melancholy was fixable. But then Cassian had startedlooking at him in that . . . thatCassianway again, and the intensity in his beautiful brown eyes had obliterated every barrier that James had erected to keep thisthingbetween them relatively innocent. Or as innocent some forbidden something that consisted of flirtatious banter and unspoken sordid fantasies could be. And once James’s defenses had been removed, he had been powerless to keep himself from falling.
He had fallen in love with Cassian. Fast and hard and completely. Right there inTitanic’s First-Class Lounge.
