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I bring the rose to my nose, but it’s not the flower I smell. What wafts around me is Asa. Now he smells like sandalwood and sunshine and sex appeal.
“Yes, I’m ready.” I hold onto his arm and he leads me to dinner.
“You look stunning, Libby. That color brings out your eyes.” My hand sits over the elbow of his right arm and he slides his left hand over it. My skin tingles from his touch. The beat of my heart sounds loudly in my ears.
“You look handsome yourself. I love that tie.” I want to run my fingers up the silk to the knot at his neck and beyond to his chiseled chin. I itch to trace his full lips with my fingers or wet them with a sweep of my tongue. I bury the wild thoughts that will never happen. Those are fantasies better left for books.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. The rich timbre of his voice covers me like warm chocolate sauce.
We walk down the long corridor until we arrive at the bank of elevators. Once inside, Asa pushes the number five.
“I could eat.” In truth, I am starving. Justice rushed me from the hotel room this morning and all I got to gobble down was a banana.
He leans in close and says, “I love a woman who eats.”
“Really?”
“Yes. There are so many things in life that should be devoured without guilt.”
A shiver runs down my spine to my freshly trimmed sex. The man confuses me. It sounds like he’s talking about food, but there’s an underlying current that says something more.
As we walk through the ship, people stare. It’s like Asa has some power over them. “They are staring at you,” I say as we pass by a row of ship personnel that do everything but bow before him.
“You’re wrong. They’re staring at you. You are strikingly beautiful. I’m surprised I didn’t have to beat anyone back from your door.”
“You are quite the flatterer, and since you mentioned it, how did you know which door was mine?”
He gives me a brilliant white smile. “I’ve got friends in high places.”
A uniformed man ushers us into the dining room to an enormous round table filled with a half dozen or so other guests. Some part of me is disappointed that we will dine with others. It isn’t every day that a man who looks like Asa asks me to dinner. I hoped to have him to myself, if not for a few minutes longer.
A man dressed in white with braids of gold embroidered down his sleeves stands to welcome us. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Asa Cross and his beautiful guest.”
I almost fall off my heels at the mention of Asa’s last name. That it is Cross can’t be a coincidence. My head snaps back so I can look at him. “You’re Asa Cross, as in Cross Cruises?” I ask.
He gives me a nonchalant shrug and then turns back to the others at the table. “Nice to meet you all.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer. “This beautiful woman is Liberty Ferall.”
Again my eyes snap in his direction at the mention of my full name.
He brushes his lips across my cheek until they are close to my ear. “I’ve got connections.” Then he pulls my chair out and helps me sit, which is a good thing because his nearness makes my knees start to buckle.
The women at the table gush with excitement, while the men deflate in Asa’s presence. It’s funny to watch a man who thinks he’s an alpha male come into contact with a real one. And Asa is the real deal. He exudes power and control. It seeps out of his pores into the surrounding air. It’s probably why I noticed him right away. When he enters a room, no one else exists.
Wine is served, and our food is ordered, and while we wait, the captain answers questions about the ship while Asa answers questions about the industry. There are twelve ships in his fleet around the world. Six of them dock in the United States, and they go everywhere from Mexico to Alaska. There are four in Europe and two in Asia.
The women coo and flirt, but Asa focuses his attention on me. My wine is never empty, and my plate is always full. He seems to take great joy in feeding me. Once the dinner is cleared, he asks the waiter to bring
the table a sampling of all the desserts.
“Can a captain really marry people on the ship?” The strawberry blonde sitting next to the captain asks.
Captain Christos gives a hearty laugh. “That, my dear, is a myth. The captain of a ship has a large amount of authority, but marrying people isn’t one of the items he’s authorized.”
“Wow, I’ve read many a book where there was a shipboard romance and a wedding,” I say, my voice drenched in disappointment because now each time I read the trope, I’ll know it can’t be true.
“Fiction. It’s a wonderful thing. It gives us the wings to soar and the permission to dream.” The captain says to me. “What do you do, Ms. Ferall?”
“I go by Libby, and I’m an independent editor. I mainly work on romance novels.”
