“After Barcelona. Why?”
“We could stay in the city for a few nights. Just us.”
“Don’t tease me.”
“I’m serious,” he says, his face so close I have to tip mine back, feel the warmth of his breath brush against my nose. His expensive aftershave, the woody, citrussy smell surrounds my senses.
“Pfft. You’reneverserious.”
“I might be. When it comes to certain topics.”
“And what are those topics?”
“You.”
I swallow, feeling like my world is spinning. One word.You. It rolls through me like the first sip of a rich whiskey. But if we’re being serious, I need to lay the groundwork. “I don’t know what I have to give right now. I’m pretty depleted.”
“I don’t want to take anything from you, Sara.”
My voice comes almost like a whisper. “What doyouwant?”
“To give.”
I can’t fight the breathy laugh that escapes me. “What does that even mean?”
“I reckon you can use your imagination.”
I can. It’sverybusy. It’s working up all kinds of delicious scenarios. “I’m worried I only have space for a rebound right now,” I say. I don’t want to mislead him. It sounds likehe’s had to deal with that before. I won’t let it be me.
It’s his turn to swallow, his eyes tracing the line of my lips, his apple bobbing. “I just want to be whatever it is you need. And if that means a rebound, I’ll take it for now.”
We’ve gotten even closer. His nose grazes mine. One of my hands drops the railings and fists in his t-shirt to steady me.
“Gus,” I whisper. I don’t even know what I want to say. I feel like I need to push him away, to recalibrate my mind and yet all I can think to do is pull him closer.
He drops his head, grazing his lips down the side of my face, gently running them over my jawline and lower to the groove of my collarbone. I sigh, tipping back further. I want to get higher. I want to wrap my legs around him, so I shuffle upwards.
But the top bar I was searching for isn’t there.
I’ve got it horribly wrong.
I release his shirt, scrambling for a bar.
Gus’s hands are quick to reach for me, but my body has already tipped too far back.
I’m fucking falling.
Typical.
The squeal that leaves my lips is feral. There are frantic footsteps from the deck below, but I’m already gone, slipping through Gus’s fingers like I’m made of something slick.
Twenty-EightCruise Location – At seaNext Port – CannesTime of Arrival – 10:00 (GMT+1)
It’s far enough before I hit the water that I feel that weightlessness in my tummy. Then comes the splash, the disorientation. I feel like I’ve been slapped from head to toe, my skin tingling. I swim upwards, the water burning in my nose. I surface, gasping for air.
I try to right my hair covering my face with one hand while using the other to assist with treading water. Something blocks what’s left of the evening sun. I look up to find Gus diving in after me.
I squeal again, turning my face away to avoid getting splashed.
