Our little cohort disperses after lunch. As I walk through the atrium, I spot several of our group conferring over schedules or hurrying off to some activity. Lunch was flawless. World class flavors, not too heavy, impeccable service. Jenny’s plate was free of gluten, and even Richard relaxed with a brightly colored cocktail sporting a classic drink umbrella.

I pass the tall windows, cruise passengers milling around me with first-day-at-sea excitement. Couples stroll by hand in hand, and a great migration of women in bathing suits and loose cover-up garments moves toward the swimming pools. I enter the cool dimness of the main hallway, intending to find a quiet spot near the rear of the ship to check email.

“Jet!”

The hair on my neck rises with electric awareness. Behind me, Havana strides my way with a tablet tucked under her arm and business on her face.

She catches up, and a light floral scent carries toward me. The perfect scent for her, natural but seductive.

“I’m glad I found you,” she says. “Almost everyone made it to lunch, and I checked on the no-shows. Sleeping off the pre-cruise drinks, both of them.”

She taps at the tablet’s screen and leans in, holding it out for me to see. When I lean into her space, she tenses. Have I misread her signals?

“I wanted to show you the rest of the day’s itinerary. I’ll be double checking arrangements for the reception and dinner after this, but want to make sure we stay on the same page.”

My fingers brush hers as I free the tablet from her grip. The hitch in her breath is tiny, but it’s there.

“Dinner is black tie in ballroom B, with a reception just before.” Our eyes meet and hers are warm. There might be a hint of something more in them. “I’ve spoken personally with every guest, as noted here on this list, and made sure everyone has evening wear.”

Next to me, her body remains stiff as she talks. The tablet is a useless prop—she holds it between us as a buffer, something for us both to focus on. All my instincts say I was following the right trail. She’s trying to keep it professional, but the heat between us is insistent. I feel it now in the tightness of my balls.

“And what will you be wearing?” I ask, before I can stop myself. All roads on this trip lead to Havana Skye’s body and what she does with it. I picture her in a clingy, red silk gown.

She makes a surprised sound, like the air going out of a slashed tire.

“I wasn’t—I mean, I’m not planning to attend that particular event,” she says. “Tomorrow is the first full day, so I’ve got lots to double check. We’ve got three meals and two snacks, and I’ve got to check with the kitchens, and then after that is the first excursion, and I’ve got a lot of paper work to check on for that, and of course—”

“I look forward to seeing you there,” I say. It’s not a question.

“Yes, but I don’t really have—”

“Whatever you need, use the company card I gave you. There’s a luxury apparel store, and I feel certain”—I look her over sternly—“they’ll have something to fit you.”

“Jet, I really need to stay on top of things,” she protests.

“Havana, this isn’t optional.” I tell myself this is good policy, not just the itch to see her dressed in something slinky. “I expect to see you there.”

She opens and closes her mouth, and then swallows.

“Then I will be there.” An uncertain smile lifts the corners of her lips, and she straightens her spine.

Her chest rises with shallow breaths, pulling my thoughts back to the place they’ve lingered all day—her perfect body. She’s flustered again, this blushing version of her replacing the business-minded professional. And damn, it turns me on. We’re still standing close, and I fight the urge to push her against the wall and find out how she tastes. If she keeps looking at me with that big-eyed stare, I might not resist.

“Thank you.” I hand over the tablet. “I appreciate all the work you’ve done so far. I fully expect the rest of the cruise to go as smoothly.”

I rest a hand gently on the small of her back, an intimate gesture that is only a fraction of what I want to do to her. Though tension is already etched on her face, she stiffens even more. I swallow a groan. If she’s this sensitive to my touch, I can only imagine the way her body would respond if I did the things I’m imagining. The thought leaves me stiff too, and I walk away before I do something foolish.

After dinner, the real party starts. Their bellies full of dishes designed by one of the most famous chefs in New York, thirty-four men and women group and regroup, their conversation animated by champagne and top-shelf cocktails. A few couples share clingy dances when the jazz trio plays something slow.

I lean against the bar and swirl the whiskey in my glass. The bartender eyes me hungrily, and it’s not just because I’m paying. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know the fit of my crisp Armani tux makes women look twice. Several of the female guests ogle me too as the liquor makes them braver and their paunchy spouses gather to talk golf and finance.

I’ve made my rounds of the room, shaking hands and taking credit for the successful first day, but something’s missing. Havana Skye, specifically. I need to be making small talk, charming the women drooling over my wide shoulders. Playing the gracious host is part of the job description, but I linger over my whisky at the bar, hoping it’ll lift my dark mood.

A change in the ambient sound of the room, a ripple of whispers, draws my eyes away from the sparkling amber liquor in my glass. At the center of the soft murmur, Havana floats into the room wearing a gown that fits like liquid silver. The metallic silk drapes softly at the neck, gleams over the curve of her waist, and pools at her feet. Her slim arms are bare, a single bracelet sparkling on one wrist. She stops to speak to a guest. As they greet each other with air kisses, I get the rear view. Her back is bare, and the dress clings to her fine ass like saran wrap.

The knot of tension in my chest loosens.

I knock back my drink and stride across the floor. She must feel my eyes on her, because she turns before I reach her. A dazzling smile lights her face, and I seem to find my swagger.

“Ladies, if I haven’t mentioned it, you look lovely this evening.” I speak to the group, but I press my palm against Havana’s bare back. She gives a tiny shiver, and a deep, aching need begins to throb in my balls.

“You look pretty sharp yourself, Mr. Flourish,” one of them says.

“Anna, right? Please call me Jet.” A flush stains her cheeks under an attractive spray of freckles.

“Aren’t you going to dance, Jet? Even the host is allowed to enjoy the party,” another woman says.

“Maybe a little later. Save one for me?” I wink. “Excuse me, ladies. I believe our cruise director here must be parched.”

I usher a bemused Havana toward the bar. The paunchy spouses are now watching us too, because Havana looks like walking sex. She sways gently as she crosses the room, that ass hypnotizing every male within sight.

“I approve whole heartedly of your choice, Ms. Skye. You look stunning.”

“Thank you, Mr. Flourish.” She takes a glass of champagne from the bartender and sips it. “I believe the ladies are in agreement that you look nice as well.”

“Nice?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“Quite nice,” she confirms with a grin.

Viv and Gabe join us to refresh their drinks. The influence of the alcohol or Havana loosens my tongue, and we find ourselves in a large circle of laughing, chatting guests. The party buzzes louder as people drink more.

A few of our guests disappear and return with other cruise passengers. I don’t begrudge them the company, because guests who get laid on a luxury cruise are happy guests. And I want them happy. More couples crowd onto the dance floor, and I do my duty. I dance with redheaded Anna, Viv Ferrera, and a few other women. One frumpy-looking matron gets handsy, and I see Havana biting her lip to contain a smile as I wrangle the wandering hands as politely as possible.

For the better part of an hour, we circulate separately around the room. But an awareness follows me, and I always know where she is. Who she’s talking to. When we meet again at the bar, she’s more relaxed than I’ve seen her yet.

“A successful party, I think.” I raise my tumbler of whisky. “Congratulations, Havana.”

“And to you, Jet.” She raises a fresh glass of champagne in response. “Only thirteen more of these to go.”

I set my glass on the bar.

“And I’ve waited long enough for a dance. Shall we?”

She sips her champagne and inclines her head. I take her raised hand and lead her to the parquet dance floor. I pull her to me, take her other hand, and settle my right palm in the small of her back. Her skin is warm, and the contact sends warm tingles up my wrist.

And then cool air rushes between us as Havana steps back, looking over my shoulder. Richard taps me and scowls, but his voice is smooth.

“Jet, please allow me to have this dance with my lovely niece.”

I jerk my hand back and smile through my annoyance. “Of course. I think I’m due for a little breather anyway.”

Richard manages to throw ice water on us every time we get close, as if by instinct. I should take the warning and steer clear. And I really don’t want to.

I retreat into the night air, seeking shadows in case anyone else walks by. Fuck me, Havana is some tempting forbidden fruit. But Kevin East has blocked my deals at least as many times as Richard has run interference between Hannah and me today. If I drop this kind of investment on the project and still can’t close the deal, Eastward will be happy to pick up my scraps. Nothing makes me more determined than obstacles in my path. But Richard will drop this deal if I screw Havana. Stay strong, man.

The clack of heels on the deck warns me someone’s coming, and I edge further into the shadows. The last thing I want right now is more small talk with Richard’s employees. Then her perfume reaches me on the breeze. My hands tighten on the rail, and I inhale the Havana-scented ocean air. I turn slowly, and the sight of her there weakens my resolve. Why am I resisting, again?

The wind toys with floating strands of her hair, whipping them around her face. Stars surround us and wink at me from her hair and lips and eyes—fuck, I want to kiss her. I want to taste the stars on her lips and weave my fingers through the sparkling strands of her hair.

“Jet, is that you?” She peers into the darkness.

“Yeah.” The effort of not reaching for her adds gruffness to my voice.

“Uh—are you okay?”

“Not really.” I step into a pool of moonlight so she can see I’m physically okay.

She stares at me, arms crossed, and then relaxes.

“You know, it’s too bad we didn’t get that dance.” She laughs softly, a hint of sadness plucking at the sound of it. “I looked forward to it all night.”

I lift her fingers from where they are wrapped around the opposite elbow and cup my palm around hers.

“Then dance with me now.”

She lets me tug her forward, and I wrap my arm around her waist. I’m not thinking now of Richard’s scowling face, or even of the purpose of this trip. The waves and wind murmur around us, and the ship’s machinery whirrs and clanks to its own rhythm. The nighttime hush sings its own melody.

The glowing cosmic clouds and star clusters of the Milky Way light the night and cast a cool glow on our faces. The silk of her dress glides against me as we sway. I tighten my arm around her waist, pressing her tighter against me. Her cheek rests against my neck, warm breath reminding me with every heartbeat how close her lips are to mine.

Our swaying slows until just our hips move together, the slow, sensual grind heating the cool night. In the spaces where our flesh meets, my neck and the small of her back, her very skin telegraphs her desire. Her fingertips rest on my neck, then reach up to toy with the edge of my hairline. My heart stutters and leaps in a strange rhythm. I step forward. She steps back. The pad of my thumb traces slow circles on her back. Her breathing quickens on my neck, almost like a touch. I bite down on the need that rises in my throat. My shaky fingers splayed to touch as much of her as I can, I slide my palm up her bare back and back down, following the ridge of her spine. I think now I can feel her heart thudding against her chest where it touches mine.

The reasons not to kiss her fade. We can do this. We can satisfy this rising need and not get caught. We can have it all.

I rotate her into the deeper shadow until I lean against the rail, feet braced wide. She needs only the gentlest touch to persuade her to settle between my legs. My hands skim over her, and I savor the slide of the silk over her body. Panting with need, I raise a hand to touch the pulse fluttering under her skin at the base of her throat. My fingers wrap around her throat and cup her chin reverently. Her fists clutch my tux’s lapels.

I want to know she’s suffered the way I have all day.

I want to feel her on that aching precipice of giving in.

And then I want to take her when she falls over the edge.

The anticipation is exquisite torture, and I love it. I sweep a thumb over her Cupid’s bow lips, and they part with a gasp. Then I tilt her head back, lower my mouth to hers, and ghost a soft kiss over her mouth. She pulls harder on my tux, and I cover her mouth with mine. Her tongue meets mine and retreats, and I’m drowning in the taste of champagne and Havana. I deepen the kiss and reach down to anchor myself with her hips.

Her hands slip inside my jacket, travel up my chest, and slip around my neck. I shudder against her lips. A driving urgency flavors our kisses. My lips move to her earlobe, down her neck, and over to the shoulder I wanted to nibble earlier. My control slips.

As I take her lips again, my hands slide down, into the valley of the small of her back, and under her dress to cup her ass. Damn, that is one fine ass. My cock throbs, swelling against her belly. She rocks gently against me, drawing a low groan from deep in my chest.

Finally, restraint falls away. I lift my hands to her shoulders and hook fingers under the straps. I pull my face from hers long enough to ask the question with my eyes, and hers answer yes. I slide the front of her dress off her shoulders, baring her to the waist.

No bra. No stick-on pasties. Just her full, glorious breasts begging for my mouth on them. Her nipples harden under my gaze. When I lower my head and suck one nipple between my teeth, she sucks in air with a hiss and weaves her hands in my hair.

I flick my tongue over the nipple and cup her other breast in my palm. As my thumb circles one nipple, my tongue flattens and swirls over the other. She’s trying not to cry out, panting one second and whimpering the next. Fuck, she’s responsive.

And she’s so turned on I can smell the sweet scent of her arousal. The earthy scent drives any remaining reserve out of my head. I need to taste her. Dammit, I need to be in her.

I press wet kisses up from her breast to her neck, and as I nip and suckle there, I gather the skirt of her gown in a bundle and find the smooth flesh of her inner thigh. She moans and pushes toward my seeking fingers. Fucking hell, no panties either. Breath shudders out of me as I fight for calm. I cup her warm mound and then slide my index finger between her slick folds.

Her fingernails dig into my shoulders, trembling with need. My balls tighten painfully—she’s so fucking tight. To keep myself from growling at her, I sink my teeth lightly into her neck and drag my wet fingers up to even more sensitive flesh. Oh, she gasps. With one fingertip, I tease lightly over her clit, slow insistent circles until her whimpers reach a fevered pitch. I dip a finger back inside and pull it out of her pussy. She watches me taste her, and then she tears at my belt.

She fumbles the button and pulls open my zipper. My cock slips out of the slit of my boxer briefs, so hard I’m surprised I didn’t burst the zipper. Then she yanks up her dress and falls on her knees on the deck of the boat, her designer evening gown pooled around her, and grips the base of my shaft. Her other hand cups my balls as her soft, wet lips wrap around my dick. Her tongue circles the head and presses against the underside. Jesus. She moans like she’s the one getting sucked off, and her eagerness turns me on more. I didn’t think it was even possible.

“Slower,” I grunt. I rest my hand on the back of her head, my fingers weaving into her hair, disturbing the sleek lines of her updo. She follows my lead, slowing and then quickening her pace. My head falls back. The star-studded vault of the sky recedes and pulses like a living thing, heightening the psychedelic effect of Havana’s tongue dancing over my cock.

Fingers caress my balls, reaching further back to feather over the sensitive ridge of skin behind them. My hand tightens in her hair, and I look down. She starts pumping with the hand on my shaft with firm, steady pressure. Against my will, I thrust toward her, deeper into her throat. The vibrations of her low moan send sharp, shooting pleasure through my groin. She doesn’t know I’m watching as the hand on my balls moves to cup her own breast. She squeezes her nipple between thumb and forefinger, and hums again around my dick. I feel like I’m watching something private, but then she looks up at me. I will remember that image forever. Her hand full of her own breast, her mouth full of my cock, and me about to lose myself.

With our eyes locked, I press against her head and hold her gaze as she goes down again. Her cheeks hollow with suction, and my cock gives that final twitch that signals I'm about to blow. I jerk my hips away and she frowns. My dick jerks and twitches in her hand as I fight to keep control.

“Fuck that, Havana. If I come tonight, I want it to be inside your sweet pussy.”

“Then fucking give it to me, Jet.” She stands and crushes her mouth against mine, daring me.

I grab her hands and yank her forward so I can wrap her hands around the rail and cover her body with mine from behind. My hardness nestles in that sexy curve just above her ass. I press my lips against the shell of her ear as she stares at the stars.

“I’ve wanted you all day, since the minute I saw you,” I whisper.

I press my knee between her legs and she inches them open. My weight still pins her against the rail, but I release her hands so I can lift the silky fabric of her gown. I bare her ass and run my hands over the pale mounds before I push my pants further down my hips and settle against her again. I angle my dick between her legs, teasing her with long strokes that slide against her wet cleft but don’t penetrate.

“Jet,” she whimpers. “Don’t make me wait any more.” She leans forward, and I bury myself in her.

She’s so fucking tight I nearly cry out. I can’t move. Can barely see. Her walls pulse around me, and I can hear her panting breaths above the ambient hum of the ship’s engine. Holding her close to me, I reach around to find her clit. She’s ready, but maybe she’s not as experienced as she seemed. I can’t remember the last time anyone felt this good. As my fingertip teases out the slippery little nub, her grip on me eases. I rock into her and circle her clit, asking her body to let me in.

Footsteps clatter against the deck. She straightens and freezes. Someone is walking our way.

The best I can do is attempt to shield her, hoping my dark tux will help camouflage us in our half-hidden nook in the shadows. I spread my arms to cover hers on the rails. Two voices murmur and dance in low laughter as they pass. The rhythm of their speech sounds like two other lovers looking for privacy. Good god, don’t let them try to take our spot. On a ship this size, the odds are low that they’d be part of our party, but the possibility is terrifying and sexy.

A devilish instinct moves me. I roll my hips to ease out and then back into Havana’s pussy. Just an inch of in and out. A fraction of delicious torture. The voices pause, but don’t get any closer. I glance over my shoulder. The couple stands maybe twenty feet away, looking only at each other. They’re in the moonlight and likely can’t see us, but the thrill of risk is hot as hell. Will she make a sound and give us away? Will I?

I free one hand and guide it back under her dress to find her clit again. She tenses at the feather-light touches, and I bring my lips to her ear again.

“Do you want me to stop, Havana?”

She shakes her head.

I thrust into her again. The voices murmur from their far-away spot, fading as the sensations overwhelm me. She breathes fast but makes no other sound as I fuck her faster, keeping the pressure on her clit. Her fingers thread through my left hand on the rail and squeeze, and I wouldn’t stop now if the boat hit a goddam iceberg. Her back arches and I know she’s there. I angle my hips and go deeper. That final stroke undoes her. She lets out a shuddering breath and comes apart.

Though I think we’ve been nearly silent, the conversation nearby ceases abruptly. Fuck. I ease out and let Havana’s dress cover her. Then I zip up with as little noise and movement as possible. She pulls the front of her dress back on, one arm at a time, and checks to be sure the deep vee neckline doesn’t show anything it shouldn’t. I’m still standing between her and the nearby couple, confident that even if they guess someone’s here, the shadow will conceal us unless someone gets a look at that silver dress.

The couple chatters louder, then disappears around the curve of the boat. I fill my cheeks and release the breath in a chuckle. Havana crosses her arms over her midsection, looking uncertain. I wrap her in my arms and pull her to me for a searching kiss.

My lips move over her jaw, and she shivers.

“I’m not done with you yet by far,” I murmur between nibbles.

She lays a palm on my cheek, and I meet her eyes. “Should we?” she whispers.

The way she changes from hesitant to ballsy and back again kills me. She’s a chameleon and I just can’t get a lock on her, on who she is. I wonder if it should worry me, but instead it gets me hard.

“I’m way past caring about ‘should we.’ My room is by the side stairs and on a different level. Don’t think. Just come.” I wink, and she rolls her eyes at the silly pun. I take one of her hands and lace our fingers together, tugging her forward.

Shaking her head, she gathers her gown in the other hand and skitters after me on her heels. We pick up speed, breathless and laughing at the silliness of sneaking around to screw, like we’re teenagers in the basement.

We kiss in the empty elevator. I slap her ass in the hallway. When I open the door to my stateroom, she grabs me by the balls and leads me in.

I’m pushing the dress off her shoulders and filling my hands with her tits before the door clicks shut. Turn down service left a bedside lamp on, and its warm yellow glow is the only light in the room. My lips fasten on her shoulder as she lowers the side zipper. The dress falls in a gleaming circle around her feet. She steps out of it in strappy silver heels and faces me, waiting.

I shed my tux jacket and loosen the bow tie.

“I can’t believe you showed up at that party with nothing under your dress. That takes some brass ones.”

She shrugs. “Why bother at all if you’re not going to show up big? Besides”—she begins to unbutton my shirt—“all my panties showed. Would have ruined the effect.”

She works down my chest, dropping kisses on my chest as she goes. I’ve fantasized about her body all day, but the reality is more spectacular than my imagination. As she unbuttons and moves to my pants, I run my hands over her curves—the trim waist and full hips, tight, round ass, and back to her gorgeous chest. I roll her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, just so I can see her face as her eyelids drift closed and pleasure relaxes her expression to bliss.

My cock springs free as she lowers my boxer briefs and pants, and I help her remove them until we’re both standing in the middle of my room bare ass naked except for those heels. She lays a palm on my chest and follows the bumps and ridges of my pecs and abs, down and around to my ass, the way I did with her. She gives the impression that she likes looking at me, the same way I’ve been worshipping her with my eyes, letting my arousal build again in a slow burn. And then I’m done waiting.

I cup her ass, hoist her up, and savage her willing mouth with mine. Her legs lock around my waist and her fierce kisses reflect my passion back at me. She captures my tongue and sucks, drawing a hoarse moan from my throat. The head of my cock nudges at her entrance, still wet and warm from her earlier orgasm. I bite her bottom lip, hard enough to sting but short of blood. She weaves her hands in my hair and balls them into fists.

It’s true what they say about the ocean air whetting the appetite. I carry Havana to the bed and toss her in the center. My balls draw up and tighten, but I plan to get more than a taste before I finish fucking her. I press her knees out, and they fall open, baring her beautiful center to me. She trembles as I kiss and suckle up her inner thigh toward her sex, which smells of satisfaction and desire and her own sweet musk.

I flatten my tongue and drag it up over her slit. She’s so fucking wet, and the taste of her makes me blind with lust. With two fingers, I spread her lips as my tongue finds her clit. Her hips rise off the bed when my fingers inside her curl upward while my tongue presses harder against her clit. She hooks her heels over my shoulder and holds on to my head like I’m saving her life. Soft moans turn into curses, which turn into yells. My hand pumps into her and my tongue flicks her little bud, and her trembling muscles grow stiff. Her knees clamp around my ears and she yells as another climax rips through her.

I lie beside Havana and watch her face as she comes down from the peak. She’s so damn sexy. I give my dick one long stroke and then caress the soft skin over her hip. I’m hard as fucking nails and my aching balls may never forgive me. Her eyelids flutter. I lean over and suck her nipple into my mouth, lightly scraping the sensitive skin with my teeth. Then I blow over the surface, enjoying the sight of her nipple changing under my attention.

“You’re not going to sleep, are you?” I grin as her eyes fly open and she turns her head to glare at me. “Good, because I want at least one more of those from you tonight.”

Some retort dies on her lips as I dip my fingers into her cleft and rub them over her clit. The slickness of her cum eases the hypersensitivity of the tiny center of her sex. Soon she’s ready to climb the walls again, and I’m done waiting. Some glimmer of sanity prods my lizard brain. Dammit, I’ve already been inside her once with no condom. There’s no need to double down.

The bed creaks as I shift my weight and rise to go to my suitcase. I wasn’t planning to get laid this trip, but I’m a contingency plan kind of guy.

“Jet?”

“Right here,” I reassure her from beside the bed. I wave the foil packet.

She rolls up to her knees and takes it from me. “May I?”

I hold my arms out, grinning. She encases me in firm hands and strokes before she rolls the condom down over my shaft. I press the length of my throbbing cock against her and lower for a kiss. And then I grab the back of her thighs and dump her backward on the bed again. I lower my weight until my cock nestles between her folds, almost in. She embraces me with all of her, arms and legs and mouth. My mouth on hers, I slide into her.

“Goddamn, Havana, you feel so good,” I murmur against her mouth.

She thrusts her hips up, pulling me deeper into her tight folds. I think she can take all of me, but we’re not there yet. I rise partially and push against her knees, bending them toward her chest. Every thrust opens her more, until finally she takes all of me, and she’s panting, impaled on my cock.

“Oh god, don’t stop, Jet,” she cries, nearly a whimper.

The last of my control burns away, and I slam into her, jackhammering my hips in a blown out frenzy. Her moans rise in pitch.

“Yes, Havana. Come on, baby. I feel you getting closer. You can come for me.” Our bodies are slick with sweat, our sensations on overload. The pent-up tension of wanting her all day is unspooling, and she feels better with every stroke, the closer I get to the edge. She’s a fucking ocean goddess, and I want her to ride me like the waves. I roll to the side and bring Havana over me, still seated fully on my dick. Her eyes roll back as new sensations hit her.

She braces her hands on my chest and finds her own rhythm, rolling her hips over me in a sinuous motion.

Fuck me, I’m so close, but I want her with me. My thumb finds her clit, and her moans join mine. I’m cursing and grunting, and she’s panting, and her pussy begins to tighten around me, and my dick swells, and she comes again, and I explode in the best fucking orgasm of my life.