Cruising for Love (The Escape Series Book 2) (9 page)

It isn't long until people start filing out of the theatre. Syd and I remain in our spot on the floor watching them go. Logically, I know that I should get up and return to my room, but the chance of getting to see Andrew again––even if he just quickly passes by us––is too tempting to miss.

Seeming to understand my desire, Syd sits quietly by my side. A few of the people emerging from the theatre give us strange looks for sitting on the floor, but most pass by without giving us a second glance. Eventually, the crowd diminishes to just a trickle, but there is still no sign of Andrew.

The door hasn't opened for several minutes, and I am beginning to feeling like someone standing by the microwave waiting for that last kernel of popcorn to pop as I stare at it. Just when I am beginning to wonder if he has exited the theatre via some backstage employee-only area, the door bursts open, startling Syd and me.

"Oh good, you're still here." Andrew beams a smile at me before sending a questioning gaze in Syd's direction.

I nudge Syd gently with my elbow and he quickly gets the hint. "I bet you two have some catching up to do, and I'm beat." He stretches out his arm and gives an overly dramatic fake yawn to prove his point. After getting up, he says, "Great show," to Andrew before turning to me to add, "See you in the morning." He starts walking away before turning back to look directly at me to say, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do...but that doesn't limit you very much!"

We can hear him cackling at his own joke as he saunters down the hallway. Andrew chuckles at him before plopping down on the floor right beside me. "It
is
you." His head is turned so that his ginormous sapphire eyes are gazing into mine.

My body is acutely aware of each place where our bodies are grazing each other––my shoulder, hip, thigh and the side of my foot are all zinging with electrified energy at his touch––my painful sunburn completely forgotten. Syd and I had been sitting just as close together, but it was nothing like this life-affirming feeling of being next to Andrew again. I struggle to stay completely present in the moment, savoring the feeling because I know that I will want to relive this scene with him over and over again.

It is as if no time has passed. Just seeing him has transported me back to high school and the intense feelings I have always had for him are front and center once more. Something about this man sets my body alive. I can feel my breath quickening, my pulse racing, and my nerve endings smoldering from his close proximity. I know that my body's visceral chemical reaction to him doesn't make any sense. After all, he could be a serial killer for all I know, but my physiological response to him is undeniable and uncontrollable––not that I would want to tame it, even if I could.

Even as many times as I've relived the precious few minutes I spent in his arms, my memories pale in comparison to actually being near him. The rush of his presence is an incomparable, exhilarating high that I have never experienced elsewhere. I drink it in like my parched, sunburnt skin absorbs refreshing aloe vera gel.

Realizing that my silence has dragged into the zone of what should feel awkward, I finally respond to his comment. "It's me," I affirm, smiling at him before adding, "and
you
."

"I've thought about you so many times over the years," Andrew remarks.

His revelation would have floored me had I not already been sitting on the floor. If he had any idea of the sheer number of times I have thought of him and our brief but marvelous time together, he would probably be somewhat frightened. Deciding it to be in my own best interest to play down my obsession with him, I tell him, "I have fond memories of you too."

There, that was nice, but non-committal.
I silently commend myself for playing it somewhat cool when all I really want to do is proclaim my nonsensical intense feelings for this man, whom I barely know.

"Remember my Senior Prom night when we danced together?" he asks me, obviously having no idea how obsessed I was––
okay, am
––with him. At my nod, he continues, "What was the song they played?"

"It was 'In Your Eyes,' I think." I'm proud of myself for adding on the 'I think.' I certainly don't want to come off like a crazy person who relives that moment in time over and over every time that song comes on––even when I purposely play it on my phone.

"Yeah," Andrew nods, "I love that song."

"Me too," I confirm, deciding it's safe to admit that much to him.

"We should go down to one of the dance clubs to request they play it, so we can dance to it and relive our glory days!"

Andrew seems excited about his idea, but I'm sure he can't possibly feel one thousandth as thrilled as I do at his suggestion––especially that he referred to it as 'our glory days.' I'm sure he wasn't referring to our dance specifically with that saying, but it felt wonderful to hear him say it, nonetheless.

"Let's go!" I let some enthusiasm show in my voice, but not to the degree that I feel it.

Proving that he's still a gentleman, Andrew helps me up off the floor and hooks his elbow with mine. It is as if I am walking on air as he escorts me to one of the ship's nightclubs.

It takes a bit for my eyes to adjust to the dark room. The pounding music makes the parquet dance floor seem to pulse and the swirling lights from the disco ball make the sequins on several ladies' dresses sparkle.

Under normal circumstances, the swaying motion of the ship when combined with the loud thumping of the music and the flashing lights would instigate a near-instantaneous migraine, but my body is too hyped up over seeing Andrew to have any sort of negative reaction––even to the intense sensory overload of the discotheque.

The good news about all of the lights and noise is that filming in here would be nearly impossible. I'm not quite ready to share my lifelong crush with the world, especially knowing the producers will find some way to make it look seedy.

Andrew holds up his pointer finger at me and goes to make a request of the deejay. After much gesturing and yelling, the disc jockey nods, seeming to understand the message Andrew is trying to relay in the loud club––or perhaps the deejay is simply trying to get him to go away.

Returning, Andrew leads me onto the dance floor where we jump and raise our arms in the air for the next couple of booming fast-tracks. Neither of us are terrific dancers, but we fit right in with most of the others––who seem to have thrown their inhibitions overboard into the international waters.

After the third song ends, the deejay makes an announcement, "Time to slow it down, by special request."

'In Your Eyes' begins playing. A few disappointed twenty-somethings head to the bar for refreshment, but the vast majority of our comrades on the dance floor pair off to slow dance. Several people who had been milling around the bar or sitting at tables waiting for this moment crowd into the dancing area.

There are so many people that Andrew and I are jostled several times. Not allowing the moment to be ruined, Andrew pulls me closer to him and I lean my head on his shoulder. Immediately, I am transported in my mind back to our glorious Prom night when we previously danced together to this song.

Tonight feels the same, only better. Andrew's shoulders are broader, and he's more filled out. It is just as marvelous being engulfed in his embrace as I remembered. Some small portion of my brain feared that I built it up so much in my memory that reality would never be able to live up to my expectations. It is an immense relief to find that he is just as magnetic, charming, and sexy as I remember.

On Prom night, we had each been with other dates, but now we are adults, with nothing to stand in our way should we decide to take things farther. Well, nothing except my makeshift husband. I won't let that sham of a marriage stop me from following my destiny, though.
That has to be what this is, right? What else besides destiny would bring the man of my dreams onto the very cruise ship where I am filming a show called 'Cruising for Love?' Just because the producers intended for me to fall for someone else doesn't mean that I can't have found the real thing on my own.

Andrew rubs his palm up and down on my lower back, leaving a tingling trail in the wake of his touch. I feel safe, happy, and fully alive in his arms, and I don't want the song to ever end.

All too soon, the song does end and the deejay puts on a pulsing, loud fast song that makes everyone jump in time to the beat. Andrew releases his hold on me, and I reluctantly let my arms drop from around his neck. There are too many people to distance our bodies from each other, which is just fine by me.

When Andrew feigns fanning himself with one hand to indicate that it is rather warm and points a thumb at the exit door, I nod and accept his outstretched hand, allowing him to lead me out of the club. "Phew," he says when we emerge. "That's the most dancing I've done since..." he seems to be thinking back, "probably Senior Prom," he decides.

I nod. It's been a while since I've been out dancing too, but not quite that long. When he suggests we take a walk outside on the upper decks, I quickly agree. Enjoying the feeling of his hand at the small of my back, I lead the way to the stairs.

Once we have climbed our way to the top of the ship, we find a secluded spot at the railing and gaze up at the inky sky. "I've never seen so many stars," I gush and mean it. It seems like the entire atmosphere is lit up for us with glimmering twinkles. The surprisingly bright moon is shimmering on the black water.

He nods, agreeing with my assessment. "Being on a ship in the open ocean makes me feel at peace. It's a great reminder of how small we are."

"And it's nice to be so far away from the rest of the world," I insert.

"The rest of the world isn't so bad," he teases me.

"Yeah, unless you are the most hated woman in it," I say sadly.

"What? Never." He sounds genuinely taken aback.

Deciding it's time to confess what has happened, I spill the story of my ill-conceived wedding and disaster television debut that occurred over the last couple of days.
Has it only been that long? It feels like eons since we left shore.

"You're married??" Andrew drops his arm from around my shoulders, and I miss it immediately. The bubbling chemistry that had undeniably been sizzling between us immediately dissipates on his end at my revelation.

"Yes, but it's really just a sham," I tell him desperately. "It was all for the show. I had never even seen Cam before the ceremony." The more I try to explain the situation, the worse it sounds, and I can see the distaste growing on Andrew's face.

"I should escort you back to your room," he decides abruptly.

"Okay," I agree sadly. I can feel my second chance with him slipping away, but I don't know what to do to rescue it.

All too soon, we arrive at my door and he bids me goodnight. It feels too final, like the end. I stand in my doorway and watch the only man who has ever made me feel so completely exquisite disappear down the long hallway.

This is crazy,
I decide as I watch 'the one who got away' getting away again. Knowing that I need to do something to rescue this situation, but unsure how to go about that, I follow him––at a safe distance, of course.

We walk for what seems like an eternity before he pulls out a key card and inserts it into a door lock. He turns his head slightly to the side as he enters, and I jump back into a doorway praying that he can't see me and that whoever is in this particular room does not decide to leave and find me lurking in their narrow entry. It would probably startle us both to high Heaven.

I hear Andrew's door close and decide it is safe to return to being visible in the hallway. Walking down to stand in front of his door, I contemplate my next move. I raise my hand a couple of times thinking that I'll knock, but end up lowering it because I have no idea what I can say to fix this dreadful situation.

Not knowing what else to do, I sullenly return to my own room. Walking out to my miniscule balcony, I lean out to see if I can see down to Andrew's room. Not being able to see very far, I consider standing on the tiny plastic footstool so that I can lean out farther. Deciding that would be a recipe for disaster––like falling overboard in the middle of the ocean––I opt not to risk leaning too far over the railing.

I like knowing that out of this enormous ship and the thousands of available cabins, Andrew is on the same level and side as I am. There is only an interminably long hallway and numerous tiny rooms separating us.

I wonder if he in his bed and what he wears to bed.
Does he sleep naked? Did he immediately fall asleep when his head hit the pillow?
I'm guessing that he isn't obsessing over every word of our interaction tonight, like I am.
Is he concerned at all about the idea of not seeing me again, or has he already forgotten about it?
I fear that he has already released me from his mind. I'm also fairly certain that I will never be able to let it go.

I lie down on my bed––fully clothed––but my mind is whirling with too much activity to allow even the possibility of sleep. Sitting bolt upright, a frightening thought overwhelms me.
What if he is leaving when the ship docks tomorrow?
I had heard on the evening announcements that we would be spending the day in port at an island. I'm not sure how the entertainment gigs work. Are the entertainers on board for the duration of the cruise or do they disembark and fly home from the tiny island airport, while the next entertainer flies in to catch the ship for the next segment?

My guess is that they don't want the same people doing shows for the duration of the cruise. They probably bring in fresh talent––meaning that Andrew could be leaving. I
can't
let him go without sharing my feelings with him. I refuse to spend the rest of my life regretting not taking what might be my last chance with him. I already know that no one else has ever made me feel the way he does. There is a good chance that no one ever will have the same affect on me. I
will not
let him slip out of my grip a second time without giving it my best shot.

Feeling determined, I march down the hallway towards his room. Once there, the insecurities set in. I raise my hand to knock and lower it several times.
What if he sends me away? What if he laughs at me? Will he think this is a silly high school crush that I have completely blown out of proportion in my head? Is that what it is?

Deciding that I will never forgive myself if I don't try, I bang loudly on his door and yell out his name before I can talk myself out of it.

Evidently my urgency startles him because when he flings open the door, his hair is sleep mussed and he is standing before me stark naked.

I suck in what is likely half the air in the enclosed hallway as my wide eyes absorb him in all his naked glory. His body is beyond magnificent. My tongue flicks out of its own accord to wet my lips as my gaze lands on his manhood. Even in its flaccid state, it is a sight to behold. When it begins to grow in response to my open perusal and obvious fascination, I force myself to pry my eyes back up to his face.

His expression is bemused, and he makes no effort to cover himself. He is clearly completely comfortable in his own skin. He rests a raised arm on the wide open door and gives me a questioning look. He is obviously wanting to know what is so important that I summoned him unclothed from his slumber, but my mind can't seem to form a coherent thought.

"Oh, ummm," I finally say dumbly.

He doesn't budge nor help me out of the awkward silence that ensues as I search for my words. I consider fleeing, but my feet feel glued to the bright carpet. I sense that this is a monumental moment in my life that I will look back on as either my best choice or my worst. I make a snap decision, figuring that no matter what, I will
not
look back on this and wonder what
could
have been.

Jumping in with both feet, I say, "Can I come in?"

If he's surprised by my bold question, he doesn't let it show. He takes an interminable-feeling moment to look me up and down. I'm dying to know what he's thinking. Without verbally answering, he steps back to widen the door opening. I slide inside to join him, the man from my dreams, in his real-life room.