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‘Nope.’
‘What about if I tell you I think there’s more to you than the obvious?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s the same as intrigue, so you need to come up with a better line, sailor boy.’
‘Sailor boy?’
A slow grin spread across his face as she mentally slapped a hand over her mouth.
Nicknames implied camaraderie. Nicknames implied fun. And there was no way she’d be foolish enough to ever contemplate having fun with him.
‘Figure of speech.’ She pleated her napkin, folding it over and over with origami-like precision, till he reached over and stilled her hand, setting her pulse rocketing as she tried not to flinch from his touch.
‘What if I said I like you?’
Taking a great gulp of air to ease her constricted lungs, she frowned. ‘You’re still trying to wind me up. And you’re good. I’ll give you that much.’
She extracted her hand on the pretext of picking up her wine glass, racking her brain for an easy way to end this conversation before she blurted out exactly how wound up she was by his teasing. The nape of her neck prickled. A colony of ants had taken up residence under her skin, and her blood flowed thick and sluggish, heating her from the inside out. Logically, she knew it was merely a physiological response—a simple chemical reaction to the first male to enter her personal space in a long time. But logic wouldn’t untie her tongue or stop the rising blush from making her feel more gauche and awkward than ever in a social situation like this.
Smiling, he picked up his own wine glass and raised it in her direction.
‘You do intrigue me. And I’m not trying to wind you up.’ His smile widened. ‘Well, not much. For some inexplicable reason I’ve taken an instant liking to you, despite your somewhat prickly exterior, and I’ve got two weeks to prove it to you.’
Prickly? The cheeky son of a—
He chuckled, and she knew he was winding her up again, trying to get a reaction.
She bit her tongue, mulling over what he’d said. He’d taken an instant liking to her, huh? As if. If she believed that she’d believe the ship would sail into the horizon and drop off the end of a flat earth.
Leaning forward, he murmured in her ear. ‘Two very interesting weeks.’
She stiffened, unable to think when he was this close. What was the best response? Ignore him? Berate him? Wait the requisite ten minutes it would take to think up a scathing comeback and put him firmly back in his place?
‘What? Nothing to say? Surprising, from a woman with such strong opinions about me.’
Sitting back, he fixed her with a smug smile—a smile that said he knew how flustered he made her, how she was struggling to come up with a suitable response.
She should have ignored him, pleaded a headache and left the table. That would have been her usual course of action—quietly slinking away, ruing her shyness. But his self-satisfied smile was too much, goading her into matching wits with him.
He assumed she couldn’t come up with a quick answer? She’d show him.
So rather than pushing back her chair and making a run for it, she felt blood surge to her cheeks, and her head snapped up as she fixed him with a scathing glare.
‘Go ahead, then, sailor boy. Prove it.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_1c6675d8-0101-51d2-bd8b-3e9b45149f3b)
LANA’S eyelids creaked open at the crack of dawn the next morning. A newly converted gym junkie, she usually bounced out of bed early and hit the nearest gym at six, when fitness fanatics liked to sweat through their first aerobics class of the day.
She’d never graced a gym, let alone tried an aerobics class, till eighteen months ago—all part of Operation Obliterate. Obliterate her memories of Jax, obliterate the embarrassment of how he’d used her; obliterate the fact that her first love had seen her as nothing more than a fling.
Now, not only was she hooked, she’d become a qualified instructor just for the fun of it. Madness? Probably. But for the hour she jumped around every morning she was just like the rest of the sweaty women around her, when no make-up and casual clothes weren’t a big deal.
After a quick shower, she donned her favourite capri pants—in urgent need of replacing, considering the frayed cuffs—and a plain white T-shirt. She had a ton of them, as they went with everything. Then she slipped her feet into a pair of well-worn slingbacks.
Beth had shuddered when she’d seen her casual outfits, but, hey, she’d always been a comfort-over-style girl. Besides, she didn’t adhere to the old ‘dress to impress’ motto. She used her brain to get people to notice her. Discounting last night, when her intellect had gone AWOL.
Prove it, she’d dared Zac. All very brave in the heat of the moment, when she’d fired off the retort without thinking it through properly, but now, in the clear light of a perfect summer’s day, her resolve wavered.
It was one thing setting out to build confidence by trying new things, but challenging a pro like Zac to flirt with her could only end in disaster.
He’d pushed her, taunted her till she’d snapped. He couldn’t have known she’d react that way, for she still couldn’t believe she’d done it herself. And while she now regretted her outburst, a small part of her was jumping up and down with joy at the unusual flash of bravado.
The old, sensible, conservative Lana would have ducked her head, pushed her ancient glasses up her nose and ignored him. She would have scuffed her well-worn sensible shoes under the table, tugged on the hem of her favourite shapeless sweatshirt and made a quick escape. She’d always taken the safe route, always done the right thing, always focussed on her career and nothing else.
She was the diligent employee, the dependable colleague, the model girlfriend, the reliable cousin. And where had it got her?
She’d been dumped, overlooked for a brilliant opportunity at work, and had come on this cruise for one reason and one reason only: to gain confidence socially and ensure she was never passed over at work again.
If she couldn’t rely on her job, the one thing in this world she knew she was good at, what hope did she have?
Maybe standing up to brash sailors and proving she wasn’t a push-over fell into the category of confidence-building?
With a shake of her head—as if that would dislodge the memory of making a fool of herself with that rash challenge—she headed for the lido deck, where continental breakfast was being served. She helped herself to a plate of mango, melon and pineapple, before finding a table next to the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Pacific Ocean, stretching as far as she could see, its undulating swell infinitely soothing.
Her apartment in Coogee had an ocean view, though nothing as gorgeous as this. She’d deliberately chosen a sea view for its calming qualities and, boy, had she needed it when she’d first moved to Sydney from Melbourne, hell-bent on leaving her past behind.
‘Enjoying the view this morning?’
She glanced up, her pulse-rate accelerating in an instant. Zac—in a navy polo shirt and matching shorts, his hair recently washed and slicked back, resident charming smile in place—rivalled the ocean in the stunning stakes.
She took a sip of water, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. ‘Yes, it’s spectacular.’
He wasn’t looking at the view. Instead, that steady, captivating blue-eyed gaze remained riveted to her. ‘Spectacular would describe it perfectly.’
She blushed and glanced down, toying with the fruit on her plate rather than face his intense scrutiny.
What made her think she could practise gaining confidence with this guy? He was a major player, and she’d barely graduated from Little League.
‘You really should try some of that mango rather than playing with it. It’s succulent this time of year.’
The way he said ‘succulent’ fascinated her; tripping from his lips, it almost sounded obscene.
‘Shouldn’t you be circulating amongst the passengers?’
She speared a piece of juicy mango and bit into it, trying to appear casual yet anxious to fob him off.
As if in slow motion he reached his index finger towards the corner of her mouth, where a rivulet of juice had started to run, and wiped it up.
Shaken to her core, she watched him lick the droplet of juice from his fingertip in a shockingly intimate gesture.
‘Mmm—tasty.’
His smouldering gaze dropped to her lips before sweeping back to her eyes, triumphant blue clashing with shell-shocked hazel.
‘You’re right. I should get back to work. I can’t have my time monopolized by one woman,” he teased, before adding, ‘Delectable as she may be.’
With a cocky smile, he gave her a half-salute and sauntered away.
The corner of her mouth was still quivering from his sensual touch. Great. If that was his first foray into proving it she was in trouble. Big trouble.
With a trembling hand she devoured the remainder of her breakfast, eager to escape. Whenever she looked up she caught a glimpse of him, moving among the tables, talking to various people. Their eyes met only once across the crowded room, and she looked away first, hating the blush staining her cheeks, hating her inadequacy at coping with light flirtation more.
It was hot in this room, way too hot. Pushing her plate away, she almost tripped in her haste to stand and dashed for the door, keeping her head down, unwilling to tempt fate further. After virtually falling into his arms, landing next to him at dinner, and then running into him first thing this morning, it looked as if fate was having a mighty big chuckle at her expense.
Zac watched Lana bolt, hiding a triumphant grin as he flipped the pages on his clipboard. He had her thoroughly rattled, if that stunned, wide-eyed gaze when he’d touched her lips was any indication.
Maybe he’d pushed the boundaries a tad there, but he hadn’t been able to help it; he wanted to see if anything disturbed that cool-bordering-on-haughty mantle she wore like a fine fur.
He’d disconcerted her last night to the point where she’d thrown out that challenge. He was in little doubt she would never have been that brazen, that sassy, if she’d been thinking straight. After all, a woman who turned up to her first dinner on a luxurious cruise liner wearing a drab black dress with oversized buttons, a God-awful belt, and barely a slick of make-up, and who rarely spoke, wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence.
Yet he’d wanted to push her buttons anyway.
Must be the pressure. He had a job to do, a saboteur to uncover, and some bad publicity to bring to a screaming halt. His uncle was relying on him, and he owed Jimmy big-time. He’d let him down once. Never again.
He needed to concentrate on business—needed to convince everyone he was just the new PR guy. The success of his plan depended on it. Even if he was actually the CEO of the whole damn company, and usually had bigger fish to fry.
And concentrating on business meant not giving Lana a hard time—challenge or not. Though there had been something about the spark in her eyes when she’d fired back at him last night, something about her wary yet indignant expression that had him wanting to delve beneath her prim surface to discover the hidden depths.
Maybe if he unnerved her enough, unsettled her enough, he’d get to see the real her?
An interesting proposition, but for now work came first. Work was reliable, dependable, and never let him down. It wasn’t clouded by emotions and it didn’t change when he least expected it. Work was the one constant in his life. The only constant.
Exactly the way he liked it.
Lana studied Neptune’s News, the ship’s daily planner, as she lounged around the lido pool, staggered by the array of activities on board: lectures on ports they were due to visit, wine-tasting, art auctions, dance lessons—the list went on for ever. She studiously avoided any activities with Zac’s name pencilled next to them, and finally decided on ballroom dancing—something she’d always wanted to try but never had the guts to. Hopefully mastering a waltz or two might give her a quickstep in the right direction to boosting her self-confidence.
Finding her way to the ballroom proved easier said than done. Maps were clearly visible around the ship, but understanding the difference between port and starboard was the first hurdle to overcome in figuring out directions, and only after several botched attempts did she finally find the room. So much for her sure-fire navigational skills; apparently they only applied to the maze of one-way streets around Sydney and to convoluted museum corridors.
Several women stood to one side of the ballroom, while a few men loitered on the outskirts of the dance floor. She learned from Mavis, the woman standing next to her, that the men were hosts, hired by the ship’s company for single women who needed a dance partner.
‘This is my seventh cruise, dear. Why do you think I keep coming back? Though I’m seventy, these dance hosts make me feel twenty-one again, whisking me all over the dance floor. Not to mention their youthful good-looks.’
Lana smothered a smile as the youngest host appeared to be a greying fifty-five. She observed that the men were skilled at mingling with the women, and soon everyone had paired off. Predictably, she had no partner. Story of her life, really.
‘Don’t worry, love, you’ll be the lucky one paired with the instructor.’
Mavis, veteran cruiser, obviously knew how these things worked.
‘I hope he’s good.’
Because she was a dervish out there on the dance floor? Yeah, right. She moved her feet to an imaginary samba rhythm and almost took a tumble.
‘I’m better than good. Let’s just hope you can keep up.’
Her nerve-endings snapped to attention as the deep voice rippled over her, and she didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to. Fickle fate dealing her a bum hand yet again.
‘Okay, class, let’s get to work. As you can see, I’m not Rafe, our illustrious dance instructor. He was called away to a last-minute rehearsal for tonight’s extravaganza, so you’re stuck with me instead. For those who don’t know me, I’m Zac McCoy, the PR manager. Though I’m not a professional entertainer, I can safely say I don’t have two left feet, and I’ve managed to learn a thing or two during my years working with the entertainment staff. So, how about a waltz to start with?’
‘Anything you want, handsome. Oh, if only I was thirty years younger.’Mavis fanned her face, a twinkle in her eyes.
‘If only I’d decided on taking the chess class,’ Lana muttered, wondering if she could feign a sprained ankle.
‘Did you say something?’
She had two choices. Duck and run, as she usually would in an uncomfortable situation like this, or ignore the blush burning her cheeks, discount the fact she’d never done this before, and suck it up and see if she could get through this awkward encounter without making a fool of herself.
She shook her head, managing a tight smile resembling a grimace. ‘No.’
‘Right, then. Shall we dance?’
Zac grinned and held out his hand, leaving her no option but to take it. She tried to relax, she really did, but as he pulled her closer, his body grazing hers, she inadvertently stiffened.
His knowing smile didn’t help. ‘See—a perfect fit.’ ‘I thought we were doing a waltz. The way you’re holding me seems more like the Lambada.’
‘Fancy a bit of dirty dancing, do you?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. You certainly don’t hold a candle to Patrick Swayze.’
A glint of hidden excitement lit his extraordinary eyes.
‘And here I was thinking you were falling under my spell. You disappoint me.’
She averted her gaze, focussing on anything other than those all-seeing eyes, wishing her heart would stop racing. ‘Don’t you ever stop flirting?’
His grin widened. ‘I’m sure Fred did his fair share of flirting while he whisked Ginger around. I’m just taking my role seriously.’
‘Your role as the resident Casanova, you mean?’
The naughty glint in his eyes alerted her to the fact she hadn’t insulted him. Moreover, he was enjoying their sparring way too much.
‘We’re both adults here. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of harmless flirtation. Besides, you dared me—remember?’
More fool her.
‘Look, this is silly. You were taunting me last night. I bit back. Let’s just forget it, okay?
The naughty glint didn’t let up. If anything it intensified as his lips kicked up into an all too sexy grin.
