“Excusez-moi,” I say to the man running the cable car descent queue, trying to remember any crumbs of GCSE French that I can. “J’ai une…Er… Urgence.”
Thankfully, he takes pity on me, allowing me onto the cable car about to head back down the mountain. I leap on, ignoring the groans of those queuing behind me. Once it’s moving, there’s nothing to do but tap my feet and stare at the breath-taking scenery of Toulon below and stunning French Riviera beyond that.
I find a scrunchie in my bag, roll my hair into a bun and secure it.
At the bottom, I run as fast I can in sandals, with a dodgy ankle and a tight denim dress that keeps riding up my arse, all the way back to the ship. Arriving breathless and sweaty, I head straight to his suite and knock.
He doesn’t answer.
I knock again.
Nothing.
I sigh, pressing my head against his door. Maybe he isn’t in there. What if he’s left? I should take the hint, but instead, I try again.
“Gus,” I call out, half-choked from running. “It’s me. Let me in… I just…” I sigh, trying to win my breath back. “Are you ok?”
I nearly give up but then I hear movement behind the door.
“Please, Gus. I just want to check you’re ok.”
Moments later, the door opens. Luckily, I had one hand propped on the frame or I’d have fallen face first into his suite. He looks tortured, eyes dark, lips parted. I haven’t seen this version of him and it does something exhilarating to my core. My heart beats faster, heavier. My toes curling. I want this man beyond questionable doubt. He swallows, that gorgeous ridge in his throat flexing.
I reach out and run my hand over his neck, trail my thumb over his apple. I step closer. His breath catches.
“I want to make you feel better,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his tense shoulder.
“It’s over,” he says, half-choked.
I kiss him again, working my lips up to his chin. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
When my mouth runs over his jawline he snaps, a ragged-pained sound escaping him, pulling me into the room, pushing me back against the closed door and crashing his mouth over mine. I feel the pressure all the way down to my toes. His hand cradles the back of my head to protect it, his fingers in my hair.
I can feel adrenaline rushing in my veins.
I want to distract him. I want him. I need this.
I twist from beneath him, stepping further into the room and spin to face him. He watches me, curious, a slight slant to his lips. I think he wants this distraction as much as I need to make him feel better. And despite his mood, I can see his wonderful energy bursting out of him too.
If his eyes could smile…
“Ensuite,” he orders, lifting his chin in that direction.
I laugh, nervously. “Make me.”
He doesn’t move for an unnerving moment. My breathing is coming quickly like I’ve been sprinting. It was barely a jog from the cable car.
“Is that what you want? You want to play?”
I nod, determined. Then I squeal as he strides toward me, long, quick steps. He grabs at my waist, but I evade him. I plaster myself against the full-length window that looks out to sea. You can’t see through it from the other side, so I know we’re truly alone.
He smiles at me now, laughing and shaking his head as if he can barely believe this is happening himself. This big, funny, silly, gorgeous man.
“Fuck. I really like you.”
I make a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“Look at you,” he says, barely able to comprehend whatever it is he sees in me. I can’t imagine. “Come here.”
