He resurfaces fast, his body warm as he pulls me to him. “Are you ok?” he asks, breathless.
I laugh, gurgled. It’s ridiculous. “Yes. Oh my God.”
“You essentially did a twenty-foot backflip.”
“I was showing off.”
“Then I’m impressed.”
“You dove in after me.”
He shakes his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “Of course I did,” he says likes it’s obvious. With one handaround my waist, he’s keeping himself above the water pretty much with the kick of his legs alone. He runs his thumb over my cheeks, lips, chin.
I gasp against him.
I think he’s going to kiss me by the way he’s leaning in. My heart rate rises, my breathing coming short and sharp but then we hear shouting from the deck and the crew are throwing us a lifebuoy to grab hold of.
Gus nudges me to take it first as we’re slowly hauled back onto the ship, climbing a dangling ladder which is surprisingly tough going, especially with a soaked dress clinging to my skin.
Once I’m back on board and being fussed over, I can’t stop laughing. I’m unsure whether it’s the adrenaline or the fact that I could’ve died. I mean, this ship is more like a yacht, so the deck we were on was only about twenty feet above the water, but still, the slap of the water as I hit it certainly stung.
Gus takes a towel and apologies to the crew members. I’m still too stunned to stammer anything, holding onto the towel now wrapped around me with one hand at the front of my neck while he grabs my spare one.
“Follow me,” he orders, striding through a storage room full of brooms and strong cleaning products. He’s definitely lost, looking for the staircase but styles it out. We emerge into the main lobby, other guests staring at our drenched hair and clothes, our frantic need to be alone.
We stride up three flights of stairs and by the top of them the adrenaline has worn off and I’m panting again. “Was the lift out of order?”
“I wasn’t waiting for the lift.”
I laugh, exasperated. He turns to find me out of breath. Taking pity on me, he crouches down and throws me over his shoulder and I can’t fight the breathless giggles that escape me.
He takes me to his room. As he lets me in and places me down, I realise I’ve been wasting far too much time worrying about the fact that Gus is a popstar, when I could’ve been sharing the suite of dreams. It must be four times the size of my tiny cabin, with glass sliding doors at the rear plus a massive balcony with gorgeous furniture including a hammock.
What the hell!
I realise we’ve paused. I turn to him. He’s watching me carefully.
“Did I rush this?” he asks.
“What?”
“Racing you up here?” he breathes, his chest rising as heavily as mine. “Look, Sara, I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re so sure. So strong. You’ve made me less afraid to step away from everything I know. You’ve shown me there’s a world beyond the band. I don’t think you realise what you’re doing to me.”
I laugh. “It’s only been a week.”
“It’s only been a week,” he agrees, dropping his shoulders and stepping closer. “In only a week you’ve shown me I’m more than a popstar. I’m a brother, a friend and if nothing else I’m absolutely hilarious.”
I fight the smile. “Your sense of humour is average at best.”
“I needed you. I needed this.” He returns to me, frantic mouth on my neck, lips, throat, earlobes. I gasp as he walksme backwards until my body flops down onto a plump, cool leather chair. Gus kneels before me, leaning in closer, tugging me towards him.
I lace my fingers into his hair and pull on his sodden curls.
“Do you want this?” he whispers against my throat as he lets his hands wander lower, over my waist, my soaked dress slick against my skin. Gus runs his tongue over my collarbone.
I probably taste salty.
I don’t care.
