lowered tone indicated he wasn’t just talking about the banquet. See, this was where she struggled. She had no idea if he was being clever or flirty or deliberately naughty—no idea how to respond without sounding repressed and uptight or foolishly naïve.
‘Well, then, I look forward to seeing your prowess at organising events.’
‘I’m sure you won’t be disappointed with my prowess.’
He took a step towards her and ran his hand lightly down her arm. She shivered, tiny goosebumps crawling across her skin as she belatedly realised she’d given him the upper hand yet again.
‘That’s a promise.’
Oh, he was good—too good. She should just hoist her white flag up the main pole now in surrender.
He’d won. He’d bombarded her with enough smooth moves and clever words to prove he liked her. Though it was just a game to him, and she knew it. Then why the urge to ignore her head, the logical part of her that she always listened to, the part telling her to jump ship now before she was sucked into believing any of this was real?
‘See you tonight.’ His husky tone washed over her like a warm wave, soft, soothing, seductive, and he grazed her arm in a fleeting touch before walking away, leaving her helpless and yearning and cursing her inexperience with men more than ever.
Lana needed a shot of confidence, and in the absence of a ballroom dancing class she settled for a squirt of that frivolous perfume.
Considering her hand still shook as she pulled a brush through her hair it hadn’t worked and she contemplated staying in and ordering Room Service rather than face another inevitable encounter with Zac.
Her nerves were shredded. She couldn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t, and standing up to his incessant beguiling barrage could wear her down eventually. She couldn’t handle that.
As she strolled towards the huge marquee about a mile from the ship, where the banquet was being held, the warm trade winds ruffled the hair at the nape of her neck. She knew wearing a new perfume and hoping it would give her poise while under duress was wishful thinking.
Fear settled in the pit of her stomach. Pep-talks to herself, telling her to stay cool and not let him rattle her, were fine in the confines of her cabin, but how would she stand up under pressure from his persistent charm?
Smoothing her old formal dress with nervous hands, she entered the marquee, where suspended fairy lights created a magical effect as they reflected in the water. Tables lined the outskirts, heavily laden with local seafood delicacies, salads and decadent desserts, and she tried not to drool. Easy, considering a certain sailor boy was nowhere in sight.
Mavis, resplendent in a floral dress with an orange hibiscus tucked behind her right ear, sidled up to her, beaming as usual. ‘Aloha, dear.’
Lana didn’t have the heart to tell her the Hawaiian greeting wasn’t used here. ‘You’re looking very tropical.’
‘Yes, well, we’ve got to get into the island spirit, haven’t we? By the way, where’s your beau? I haven’t seen him.’
‘My beau?’
Mavis tut-tutted. ‘Don’t play coy with me, my girl. I saw the way that sailor looked at you yesterday in dance class. I may be old, but I’m far from senile, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me I think you liked the attention.’
‘No way—’
‘Why don’t you live a little? Have some fun, dear. You’re only young once. Now, in order to do that you need to keep mingling and stop wasting your time talking to an old chook like me.’ She patted Lana’s cheek. ‘Say hello to that gorgeous boy for me,’ she said and waddled away, chuckling under her breath
Have some fun. You’re only young once.
She wanted to, she really did, but ignoring the habits of a lifetime was tough. Even if she knew how to flirt, would Zac be satisfied with that? She doubted it. If she responded he’d take it as a signal that she was interested in more, would probably expect more, and she couldn’t give it to him.
She was anti-casual-sex for a reason, a damn good one, and casting off her inhibitions along with her reservations would be near impossible.
Unless she had great motivation?
Maybe she did—all wrapped up in six-foot-plus of sexy sailor. Was Zac incentive enough for her to drop her guard and see where it led?
The thought had her bolting from the marquee for the safety of the deserted beach, where she could quash daft thoughts like that before they blossomed and encouraged her to indulge in all kinds of crazy, uncharacteristic actions.
Zac made small talk with a couple from Alabama while his gaze was riveted on Lana as she left the marquee.
He was an expert at multi-tasking—his job, his real job, demanded it—so he had no trouble nodding and laughing and responding even while hiding a grimace at yet another hideous dress, this one in a drab brown, and at the way it hid her curves.
And she had them—man, did she have them. He’d seen them on full display this afternoon, despite that neck-to-knee ensemble. Okay, it hadn’t been that bad, but those boring bathers were gruesome just the same, and she no doubt thought they hid the curves that could give a guy ideas of how far he’d like to push this challenge, despite his every intention not to.
She’d come to the banquet. He’d had his doubts after the way he’d taunted her at the pool earlier. She was still nervous around him—something he couldn’t figure out, considering she’d come alive in his arms in that dance class after she’d loosened up, and the way she’d started smiling at some of his jokes over dinner.
Socialising didn’t come naturally to her. He saw it in the fiddling fingers, the tense shoulders, the lowered gaze whenever his flirting got too heated. He should feel sorry for her, should leave her alone.
An image of her in that wet, clinging, black one-piece sprang to mind again, instantly obliterating his good intentions to keep his distance. The bathing suit hadn’t been remotely sexy, but the woman in it—now, that was another story.
All afternoon he’d mentally rehearsed the reasons he shouldn’t push this: the ‘employees don’t fraternise with passengers’ policy he’d devised himself; the importance of focussing on the quest to catch their saboteur; the debt he owed Uncle Jimmy. All perfectly legitimate reasons to keep his distance and stop toying with her—not to mention the fact she hadn’t returned his interest in the slightest.
But he couldn’t get her out of his head. He’d never met anyone like her: fragile, shy, clumsy and yet infinitely endearing. Quite simply, she captivated him.
It couldn’t be purely physical, not with the dreadful clothes she wore—old-fashioned clothes that hid her body rather than enhancing it. And she rarely wore make-up, she tied her hair in a ponytail most of the time, and she wore no jewellery.
But that was what intrigued him the most: her apparent lack of artifice, which allowed the natural intelligent sparkle of her expressive eyes to shine through, and her genuine smile on the rare occasion one of his funny barbs hit its mark with her.
Her acerbic wit attracted him—the
