With Every Breath (Sea Swept #2) (15 page)

I sigh because I’m back to square one. I don’t know what I want when it comes to guys, especially when it comes to West. All I do know is that, one day, I hope to find love. Like what Georgia and Jace have. Like what Sofia yearned for. If she knew I was stopping myself from a chance at a real connection because of her … well. She’d stab me with a butter knife. That was her weapon of choice, because hospitals didn’t give you sharp knives with your meals. We’d get into some argument, and she’d mock-threaten me with the little plastic knife, and crack up when I pretended to be scared.

Elise reaches out and places her hand on top of mine. “What do you think your sister would say if she were here?”
 

I swallow hard because the answer comes so easily. Sofia would be happy for me if I found someone—and angry as hell at me for holding myself back from the possibility of love. Even in her diary when she was raging about how unfair her illness was, she was always glad when something went my way.

“
You
should be a psychologist, not me,” I murmur to Elise.

She smiles and grips my hand briefly. “It’s easier to sort out problems when they’re not yours.” She finishes her milk, then says, “Oh, did you hear about Ronan? The Irish guy with freckles?”

I shake my head. “Who’s he?”

“One of the shoppies,” she says, referring to the staff who run the ship’s souvenir and convenience stores. “He got the 6am knock this morning.”

“The what?”

“He got fired. Woken up at 6am, given a pink slip, and escorted off the ship.”

“Without notice or anything?”

Elise nods. “Cruise ships stopped giving advance warning of firings, because sometimes the employee about to be fired would jump overboard.”

My eyes widen. “They’d kill themselves?”
 

Elise grimaces.

“It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. So now the 6am knock is standard policy.”

“Wow. So any morning, we could wake up and get fired?” I say, dismayed, but Elise doesn’t seem fazed.
 

“It’s not usually much of a surprise, honestly. Ronan got caught eating the shop’s candy bars and pretending a passenger stole them. Everyone figured he was getting canned soon. Don’t worry, it won’t happen to you. After all, your boss likes you.
Likes
you likes you,” she teases, a grin appearing on her lips.
 

“Oh, shut up,” I say, but with a smile. Then it fades. No matter how I feel, or don’t, West made it pretty clear he’s focused on work right now. I’ve watched him swallow enough seasickness pills to know that he desperately wants that promotion to solid ground. Honestly, I want that for him too—he deserves it.

But he won’t get it if I keep slacking off.
 

Suddenly that puts the last couple weeks in perspective. I haven’t been working all that hard at sales, honestly. West was right to call me out on that. I just don’t care that much whether a passenger buys a $50 photobook package or a $75 one. I don’t get paid much either way, and I’m not really here for the money. But West is, and he’s been busting his ass for the chance at promotion.
 

No wonder he was mad that I slacked off. And I didn’t even have the decency to apologize, sulking about it instead. I want to go talk to him, but I quell the urge. At this hour, if I go back to his room I know damn well we won’t wind up talking. And things are so tangled up between us right now. I need some time to think, to get my head on straight and figure out what I want. Not what Sofia wanted, or didn’t get to have, but what
I
want.

I take my last bite of cupcake while Elise licks the cream cheese icing off of her fingers. When she’s done, she glances at me and grins.

“Want another?” she asks.

“Hell yes,” I say, and we dash for the fridge.

Chapter 14

West

Strangely, the morning after our fight, Yasmin doesn’t seem to want to kill me. I’d figured she would glare daggers all day or corner me with a butter knife, but instead she only looks at me … oddly. Her glances are solemn, measuring. It makes me nervous.
 

Last night, she’d looked so adorable and sexy napping in my bed. Her long pajama bottoms draped silkily over her legs, and I couldn’t help fantasizing about sliding them up from her ankles, over her calves, exposing more and more soft, tan skin.
 

Her little tank top wasn’t helping matters either. She wore a robe overtop, but when it slid off of one shoulder as she slept I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, and I was hit with a wave of need. I remembered the bell tower, feeling her nipple harden under my fingers and hearing her gasp in my ear. It took all I had not to join her in bed and make her gasp like that again.

Not that she wants me to. Or does she?

After I kissed her, Yasmin had stared up at me with such soft sweetness, and I’d felt myself at the edge of a precipice, about to fall headlong into … something. I could see myself trying to be with her every second, ignoring work, forgetting about sales, and that would be disastrous for my future. So I’d told her I wouldn’t let her slack off, but I was talking more to myself, honestly.

When she’d gotten mad and left, I’d let her, because Letta’s reappearance had reminded me of how awkward shipboard dating can be if things go sour, but it had only taken five minutes for me to reconsider. Unfortunately, Yasmin wasn’t in her room by the time I came to my senses. I searched a few of the spots around the ship where we’ve worked on Sofia’s project together—the library, the couches in front of the atrium’s giant fish tank—but couldn’t find her.

Maybe it’s for the best. The way Yasmin’s looking at me right now, I don’t know what she’s thinking, whether we’re on good terms or bad. I tell myself that we both need to focus on our sales, and assign her to work the outdoor areas of the ship while I work inside. I barely see her that day aside from passing one another at the shop.
 

The next morning, I’m assembling the debarkation photo crew when Yasmin shows up at the store. It’s a port day and she’s not scheduled to work, but I can’t go back on my punishment, so she’s stuck on the ship. And I’m betting she’s probably pissed about that.

“Don’t even ask,” I say as she walks over to me.

She blinks. “Ask what?”

“To go off the ship.” My voice is harsh, because if Yasmin begs, I know I’ll give in. She’s dressed in a summery peach dress and I can see her bathing suit ties around her neck, as if she’s ready for the beach. “I told you, I can’t let you until your numbers go up.”

“I know. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh.” Now I feel like even more of an ass. I follow her out of the shop and down the Promenade to a little bench decorated with seashells.
 

“About the other night,” I say as we sit down. “I’m sorry about the way I acted.”

“For kissing me, or for being a jackass about it afterward?” The glint in Yasmin’s dark eyes tells me she’s teasing. I want to tell her I don’t regret the kiss, or the bell tower. But where would we go from there? Dating an employee won’t look good, not when I have to fire someone. People would say I was playing favorites, and it’s not like they’d be wrong. Besides, Yasmin only saw us as a fling.
 

Before I can figure out how to respond, Yasmin meets my gaze. “Look, the reason I came to talk to you is … I wanted to say that I know your job’s important to you, and the promotion even more so. I won’t do anything to mess with that.”

My mouth parts in surprise. “You’re not mad at me?”

“Nope.” She shrugs, and I try not to let her bare shoulders distract me. Her smile is light and real. “I’m going to work on Sofia’s collage, and get a tan on the Lido deck. And starting today, I’m going to rock this job. I promise.”

I’m not sure what to say. “Great,” is what I finally come up with.
 

Yasmin hops off the bench.

“Have a good day, okay?” she says, and takes off toward the elevators. I almost call out to ask if she needs any help with the collage, but I can’t, of course. I’m on the clock today. Although right now spending time with Yasmin sounds a lot more appealing than even a corporate job … which is exactly why I need to put her out of my mind. I drag myself back to the shop.

“Wait, why doesn’t Yasmin have to wear a costume today?” says Richie, a New Zealander who ranks decidedly middle of the pack in terms of sales. “Why does she get a break and we don’t?”
 

“Because she’s scheduled for one,” I say, a little annoyed. Richie likes to complain. In his last contract on a different ship, apparently it got him a lot of extra free time. But I won’t let him play me. “Let’s go.”

“Maybe I should sleep with him too,” he mutters to the rest of the debarkation team.

Anger slices through me, and I turn. “You have something to say?”

“Come on, everyone knows you and Yasmin are together. That purser, Letta, told us.”

“Letta is mistaken,” I say, and stare Richie down. “Got it?”
 

After a moment, he mutters an apology, and we get to work.
 

Over the next two cruise cycles, Yasmin’s sales total improves, which is good because I’d been this close to being forced to tell Randall that Yasmin was the one who should be fired. I still have to make a decision in August, but thankfully she’s no longer the obvious choice—if she can keep up with her numbers.
 

I can’t help noticing that a lot of her photos are being bought by guys, and they’re of her or Camelia—or both—partying with those guys in the ship’s nightclub. It’s after hours, so it’s none of my business, but it bugs me. Sure, it brings in sales, and the guys on the team do the same thing, but each time a digital image comes up on the photo displays of Yasmin with her arm around some grinning frat-type guy, my gut clenches. I was a mistake to her, a stupid thing to do, so how many more mistakes is she making?

She’s entitled to do whatever she wants, obviously. But if she’s going to make more mistakes … I want them to be with me.

However, knowing the rumors already flying about us, I take care to keep our interactions on the friend level, and my fantasies private. Yasmin and I start our hiking and photography excursions again, and I keep my eyes focused on my camera lens, not on Yasmin.

At the end of our next cruise leg, I tally up the sales numbers like always and sigh at what I see. It’s one of the worst weeks we’ve had, with revenue down on all photo packages. I rake my fingers through my hair, frustrated. I can’t blame my staff completely since the weather was terrible all week—annoyed passengers don’t buy photos—but I know these numbers won’t look good when I meet with Randall.
 

“So who won this time, boss?” says Yasmin, breaking me out of my thoughts.
 

I glance up to find my team staring at me expectantly. I should probably give them another talk about improving sales, but my heart isn’t in it right now. I scan the numbers, expecting Charlie or Paolo to be in the lead as usual, but …
 

“Actually, you won, Yasmin,” I say, surprised.
 

Her eyes fly wide. “I did?”
 

Applause bursts through the room, and Camelia high-fives Yasmin.
 

“What do I win?” Yasmin asks after the rest of the team has headed off to lunch.

“A photo shoot with me in the studio, for head shots.” It’s a $150 value, if a passenger bought it, and it seems to be a popular prize for my staff. I make people look good. But Yasmin doesn’t seem all that excited. “Or an extra afternoon off, I guess,” I add, hiding my disappointment that I won’t get her in front of my lens.

She shakes her head. “I want a photo shoot, I just don’t want it in the studio.”

“All right, a photo shoot with a location of your choice,” I say, my mood improving a little. If I can’t touch her sexy curves, at least I can caress them on camera.

“Done.” Yasmin grins at me.
 

“Where on the ship did you have in mind?” I ask. She’d look spectacular at the very front of the
Radiant Star
, the wind in her hair.

“Not on the ship. I want some glamour shots on the beach. Maybe at the Star Heart island?”

“Glamour shots?”

“Like in
Vogue
. Not the weird spreads, just me in high heels and fabulous dresses, looking awesome.”

She looks awesome already, in a company polo and tiny shorts. I’m not sure I could handle her in slinky dresses. “I’ve never done that kind of photography before.”

“You’re an artist, West. I’m sure it’ll turn out fabulously.” Yasmin’s confident smile warms me, and I have to admit I’m intrigued. I’m not an artist, no matter what Yasmin says, but it might be fun to experiment.

“Great,” I say. “I know just the spot.” There’s a tiny cove that’s on the opposite side of the island from where the passengers hang out. The beach is rocky and dramatic, with palm trees and white sand between boulders.

So that’s how, three days later when the ship docks at the company’s private island, I’m waiting at the crew’s disembarking ramp wondering just how big of an idiot I am. The cove I’m taking her to is isolated and gorgeous. I can already picture her there—naked. I’m not sure how successful I’ll be in hiding how I feel, because my whole body is tight already. But I’ve got to keep this professional.

Yasmin appears at the top of the ramp, and for a second I think I’m a goner. She’s wearing a white string bikini top and a striped pink sarong that flashes plenty of tanned leg in the breeze. Yasmin’s hair falls to her waist in glossy dark waves, and her hips sway mesmerizingly. Her stomach is flat and toned, which isn’t surprising since I see her working out at the gym most mornings, but which is incredibly distracting. The spread of tanned skin and the dip of her navel make my mouth go dry. I raise a hand in hello, unable to say a word. Yasmin waves back and heads down the ramp to me.

Elise, the pretty blonde American from Hospitality, is right behind her. At first I think she just happens to be leaving the ship at the same time, but then I notice she’s carrying a bag of clothing, plus a little case.