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More embarrassed than she’d care to admit, she managed a tight smile, picked up her luggage, and turned away, striding toward the ship though her knees wobbled like just-set jelly.
“Watch your step,” he called after her, his voice shaking with laughter.
She stiffened but didn’t break stride, determined not to look back, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Besides, she could feel his stare boring holes into her back.
Her skin prickled at the recollection of those mesmerizing blue eyes twinkling at her, laughing at her, and she shook her head in disgust. She was such a novice when it came to interacting with the opposite sex.
“Live a little, Cuz. Let your hair down. Go crazy.” Beth had encouraged. “You’ve got two weeks to cut loose, to be someone you wouldn’t dream of being on land. Make the most of it.”
Great advice, and it had sounded doable coming from her bubbly, confident cousin who bounced through life with a perpetual smile on her face. And Beth sure knew what she was talking about, considering her positive attitude had landed her Aidan Voss, the dreamiest husband on the planet.
As for Beth’s other advice—“dust off the cobwebs, get laid”—Lana blushed just thinking about it.
It has been precisely one year, five months, and five days since she’d last had sex. Not that she was counting or anything. Besides, she’d have to date to have sex, would have to get emotionally involved with the guy to contemplate it, and she didn’t trust her emotions anymore; not after what Jax the Jackass had done.
She tucked her old satchel under her arm tighter and headed for the gangway. Beth was right. While her professional life shone, her social life sucked. She had no confidence, no social skills, and no hope of being chosen for the museum’s next overseas jaunt unless she learned to be more assertive, more outgoing, more everything.
Maybe this cruise would be exactly what a conservative curator needed?
* * *
Zac watchedthe petite brunette cut a path through the crowd, confused and intrigued. Most of the vacationers he met were dressed to kill and wearing enough makeup to sink a ship—no pun intended—yet she wore a simple navy suit bordering on severe and barely a slick of lip gloss, and had managed to capture his attention anyway.
He’d reached out to her in an instinctive reaction but once he’d held her, his synapses had short-circuited, because he found himself wanting to hold on way longer than necessary.
What was with that?
He’d lost any tender tendencies toward the fairer sex around the time Magda had done her chameleon act and he hadn’t let a woman get close enough to sink the talons in since.
Unwittingly, his gaze was drawn to the diminutive figure striding toward the ship, head up, shoulders squared as if ready for battle. No simple walking for her. Instead, she swayed her hips in a natural, tantalizing rhythm in sync with her legs.
As for the way she’d glared at him…an image of feline hazel eyes and a full, pouting mouth sprung to mind. That mouth… He could’ve fantasized about it forever. As for that innocent schoolgirl-channelling-schoolmarm expression she had down-pat, he’d never seen anything like it.
When she stared at him with those striking burnt caramel eyes, she appeared wide-eyed ingenuous one second, ready to give him a severe scolding the next.
Fascinating, but he didn’t have the time or the inclination to follow up on the first woman to pique his interest in ages. He had more important things on his mind, like ensuring he did a damn good job the next two weeks, before doing what he should’ve done years ago: accept his responsibilities.
* * *
After unpacking,Lana made her way to the Promenade deck and wandered away from the crowds along the railings to find a deserted spot with a clear view of the hustle and bustle below.
Circular Quay buzzed with activity: people waving as the ship pulled away from its berth, snapping the colourful streamers that bound it to shore. She had a great view from her vantage point, the Sydney Harbor Bridge on her left and the Opera House on her right as the ship sailed up the harbor, both landmarks imposing in the fading light.
The sound of low voices from somewhere on the deck above captured her attention. If she had a great view from here, theirs must be amazing.
“Looks like loads of single women down there. Half are here for flings, the other half hope to find a husband. It’s the same every cruise,” said an oddly familiar voice.
“Your job is to pamper those women, not judge them.”
“Easy for you to say, buddy. If they see an unattached guy they’re like piranhas circling their next meal.”
Despite her intentions to ignore the conversation, this harsh judgment call made her look up. Standing above her, silhouetted against the Bridge, stood the stranger who’d saved her from falling earlier.
He wore a crisp, white uniform that accentuated his tan and made him look like the perfect advertisement for shipboard life. Deep furrows marred his brow as his gaze swept the crowd and she shrunk back, hoping she was hidden. She didn’t want to be scrutinized by that disconcerting stare, not when she’d been eavesdropping, albeit unintentionally.
Mr. Nautical’s generalizations about women had her bristling enough to barge up there and give him a verbal spray—and if she had the guts to do that—yeah, right—she’d be winging her way to Egypt right now as the museum’s spokesperson, not cowering under a deck hoping she wouldn’t be spotted.
He was entitled to his opinion, she to hers, and right now, as her gaze darted overhead and she noticed those broad shoulders, deep blue eyes, and mop of unruly dark curls, her opinion screamed Neanderthal.
