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He shook his head, as if trying to fathom what sort of crazy person would work in a museum all day then become an instructor for kicks.
Propping her elbows on the railing, she leaned back. This might take a while and when she’d bored him senseless, he’d probably jump overboard.
“I’ll give you the abbreviated version. I was raised in Melbourne. You know about my botched relationship and when it soured, I moved to Sydney. Not just because of Jax but to get away from the mundane and start afresh. I wanted to try new things, do stuff outside my comfort zone so I joined a gym.”
She’d never forget her first step class, when she’d slunk in wearing a faded blue T-shirt and a baggy leisure suit, and been confronted by twenty lycra-clad, designer fitness fanatics in fancy joggers.
“I made a sloth look good so joining a gym was huge for me. The bizarre thing was, I got hooked to the point I took an instructor’s course. Not that I’ll ever do anything with it—” he raised an eyebrow “—after this cruise, that is, but it was something I needed to do, something to build my confidence, something to chalk up on my quest to try new things.”
Something shifted in his eyes—wariness? Hurt?—as she belatedly realized he’d probably add himself to that list.
“Curator, huh?”
“Yeah.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, not used to wearing it half down and softly curled with tendrils tickling her.
“I guess it fits.”
He hadn’t lost the brooding expression and her heart sank further. She’d hoped that by telling him the truth he might soften a little, understand where she was coming from. By the look of his compressed mouth and deep groove between his brows, he didn’t.
“Fits?”
“Your image…before this.” He waved toward her in a vague gesture, acute disillusionment making her want to rip the designer dress off and fling it overboard.
“Before looking like a woman who wants to impress her man?”
He shook his head, thrust his hands into his pockets. “You don’t need to go in for all this fake stuff to impress me.”
“But you said—” She bit her tongue, wishing she had more experience with men, wishing she had half a clue where to go from here. She’d tried to show him she wanted him by her appearance but he didn’t get it. Worse, he didn’t like it.
So what was her next move? Tell him outright? Yeah, like she’d have the guts to do that.
“What did I say?”
“Nothing.” Yeah, she was a chicken.
He held her gaze, his eyes imploring her to tell him the truth, like he knew she was holding out on him.
But he hadn’t reacted to her makeover as she’d expected. How could she stand it if she came clean about her feelings and he rejected her?
An awkward silence ensued before he shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. We’ve got a PR disaster in the making on our hands and I need to deal with it.”
There was more: she could see it in the clenched jaw, the rigid shoulders.
“Worse, my work schedule triples in the final two days of a cruise,” he added, as realization dawned.
He was dumping her.
Before they’d properly started.
Stunned, she knew nothing could’ve prepared her for the sharp, stabbing pain cleaving her heart in two.
It shouldn’t hurt this much, considering they’d done little but flirt and exchange a few steamy kisses. Some light-hearted fun. She’d made that perfectly clear right from the start. She’d got what she wanted, right?
Mustering the limited reserve of courage that had got her through the confrontation with her CEO when he’d told her she wasn’t assertive enough to go on the Egypt jaunt, she effectively blanked her expression.
“I understand.”
He reached out to her and her infinitesimal edging away had him dropping his hand uselessly to his side. “It’s business.”
