I flop back onto my pillows. Gazing up at the ceiling, I can’t stop thinking about what happened in the spa today.

I’m exhausted after all the clients that had suddenly showed up out of nowhere, and yet my head is spinning too much for me to relax.

I had no idea that agreeing to massage Bryant would change my life forever. Because that’s what it did. First, it was the moment I touched his skin, my hands moving along the muscles on his back as though they belong there, as though they were made to touch his body. And then his kiss had taken me by surprise and left me reeling.

Bryant had made it clear he’s only interested in one thing. Getting attached to him as I’ve already done, would be a mistake that could get my heart broken. But the moment his lips touched mine, I forgot all my fears. I’d risk anything to feel the way that kiss had made me feel.

No wonder people risk everything to fall in love time and time again, even when forever isn’t guaranteed. No wonder people have one-night stands even though they could regret it minutes later. I understand why walls come crashing down when the right person comes along, the one who makes you forget your name. How would I ever move on from this?

The past few days I’d thought a lot about his offer of sex with no strings, coming to the same conclusion each time, that it would be a dangerous game to play. But kissing him makes me want to reconsider. One taste of him had turned my brain to mush and brought a tingle between my legs that I still feel, hours after he left the spa. After he’d left, many clients had come and gone, but he had remained on my mind. I did my work as best I could, a professional all the way, but I wasn’t present in the room. I was with Bryant, wherever he was at the time.

I get out of bed and gaze into the mirror, in need of two people to make this life-altering decision for me, even though one of them is a reflection.

This is a decision I would have to live with for the rest of my life, one that could lead to tears, one that could leave me stripped naked and vulnerable yet again. But it’s a decision I have to make as soon as possible. But first, I need to wash the day off of myself, wash off the confusion. Relaxing my mind might help make it easier to decide what to do next.

While the water runs, I undress in front of the long mirror behind the door, my clothes falling to the floor at my feet. I never liked looking at myself naked as it made me feel uncomfortable. But I want to see what his eyes would see if he saw me without clothes on. I need to find parts of me to like before he can like them. Maybe that’s why things went downhill with Dustin. I never liked myself. I didn’t see myself as a woman worth desiring. Coming on this cruise and spending time with Bryant has changed all that. In his eyes, I saw a different version of myself, the woman I have been hiding from for many years, the woman I can’t hold back any longer.

My gaze moves to my lips, the lips he kissed. I slip my lower lip between my teeth, wanting to taste his kiss again. I need more than a taste. If I don’t, I might go crazy.

My hair is covering my breasts so I move the locks out of the way. My boobs are neither too big nor too small, the perfect cup size. And the rest of my body is not as bad as my mind made me believe for years.

If this is what Bryant would see, it isn’t so bad. Maybe if I appreciate my body and embrace my sexuality, I won’t end up being such a failure between the sheets. It’s hard to imagine being a failure with a man as experienced and devastatingly sexy as Bryant LaClaire.

Later, as I lay in the hot bath, covered in foam, I can’t stop my hands from traveling from my flat stomach toward the south. I can’t stop them from sliding between my legs, searching for pleasure in places I used to ignore. Thoughts of Bryant electrify my mind and spark my imagination, awakening my body, driving me various shades of crazy.

As something hot and unexpected builds up in my belly, my phone rings and I jump, sending water splashing everywhere. My heart is in my throat, my cheeks burning as though I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t be doing, something naughty. Mom would most likely call what I was doing a sin, searching for sexual pleasure when I’m unmarried.

It’s her name flashing across my screen.

I wipe foam off my hands and reach for the phone, leaning slightly out of the tub so it doesn’t fall into the water.

“Hi, Mom, how are you?” I’m not in the mood to talk to her. Except, ignoring her only delays the inevitable. She’s my mom, sooner or later we’ll have to talk. Better to get it out of the way.

“Grace Anderson, how dare you ask me that question when you know full well how I am?” Her harsh tone tells me this is a call I should have avoided.

Before she called, I was getting to a place where I liked myself, where I embraced my sensuality. I’m pretty sure after talking to her I’d feel shitty about myself all over again.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” I form a fist over a small mountain of foam.

“I’ve been sitting here for days, worried sick, waiting for my own daughter to call or message me. And what do you do? You pretend I don’t exist. I left you messages and not one reply. You could have been dead for all I know.”

I put the phone on speaker and place it on the vanity stool next to the tub. While her voice fills the room, I dry myself off. Only then, do I pick up the phone and lower myself onto the stool, two fingers massaging my temple. Less than five minutes talking to her and I already feel a headache coming on. And she wonders why I ignore her calls?

“Won’t you say anything?”

“I think you’re overreacting. Sorry I didn’t call you back, but I’ve been busy. I just started a new job.”

“Too busy to talk to your mother? Too busy to talk to your husband?”

“Mom,” I say between gritted teeth. “Dustin is not my husband. Not anymore.”

“He claims you are the one who filed for divorce and not him. How could you do such a thing?”

“He’s right. I’m the one who asked for a divorce.” When he returned from the bar that night, we sat down to talk and he made it clear we made a mistake. So I told him maybe it’s best to correct the mistake then. He jumped on the idea without hesitation. “He hurt me. Things were said—”

“How can he make it up to you if you refuse to take his calls? You’re the one who ended the marriage. Make things right.”

I give her a bitter laugh. “Is he telling you he wants us to get back together?”

“Not in those words exactly. But what else would he want? He said he’s been trying to reach you.” Her heavy breathing comes through the line. You can always tell how angry my mother is from the way she breathes. When she’s happy, you have to be close enough to know she’s breathing at all. “Marriage is not a bed of roses. Don’t allow things said in anger to ruin a good thing. Darling, you don’t want to make the same mistake I did.”

Could it be she’s trying to make up for her failed marriage through me? I’m having none of it. I can’t believe she blames herself for my father leaving her for another woman.

“You don’t know what happened, Mom. You’d think differently if you did.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” The disappointment in her voice is palpable. “Nothing justifies you leaving your husband. I didn’t have a choice, you did. You still do.”

My free hand curls into a fist. I’ve had enough. There’s no reasoning with her. For a second, I’m almost tempted to tell her exactly what drove Dustin and I apart. But talking to my mother about sex is nothing short of creepy. I shiver even thinking of what advice she’d give me.

“Sorry to disappoint you, mother, but it’s over between me and Dustin. Nothing you say will change that. Now I have to go. Goodbye.” Before she can say anything more to upset me, I end the call and switch off my phone.

I enter my bedroom with a smile and throw the damp towel on the bed. What my mom doesn’t know is that her call has made my decision concerning Bryant that much easier. Bryant told me to live my life, to try new things that both thrill and scare me. The idea of having sex with him, with no strings attached, does exactly that.

I need to go for what I want more often. Right now I want Bryant. My desire for him blocks out any sort of rational thought. I need him right now, strings or no strings. I’m in the mood to let my hair down.

With fresh determination coursing through my veins, I fling open the wardrobe and pull out one of the cocktail dresses Bryant bought for me.

Once I put it on, I stand in front of the mirror, admiring my curves. The dress is low-cut and my hard nipples are slightly visible through the fabric, but I won’t wear a bra. If Bryant wants sexy, that’s what he’ll get.

My face remains free of makeup, my hair damp as it hangs down my back. I don’t even bother to wear shoes as I storm out of my cabin and run down the hallway, the fabric of the dress gathered in my hands on both sides so I don’t trip on it. I take two steps at a time up the stairs.

Out of breath, I reach the upper deck.

When I get to his door, instead of knocking with my knuckles, I pound on it with my fist like a desperate person. The door swings open and he’s standing before me. My heart responds with a leap.

For a moment he watches me, his eyebrows drawn together. He reaches out and wipes a tear from my cheek. I didn’t even know I was crying.

“Come inside.” He takes my hand and pulls me into the only place I want to be tonight.

* * *

When I had dinner with Bryant last time, my head swam after only a glass of wine. Now, as he hands me a tumbler of whisky, I hesitate. Something like that would definitely knock me out.

“You look like you’re in need of something strong to calm your nerves.” His voice carries a compassionate tone. “And this is all I have in there.” He gestures toward the bar.

“You promise you’re not trying to get me drunk?” I manage a watery smile.

“Cross my heart.” He lays a hand on his chest. “But if you don’t trust me, I can have someone bring something else for you. How about a cocktail?”

“No cocktail. Give me that.” I reach for the tumbler and wrap my hands around it. Maybe strong alcohol will give me the numbness I need tonight, dull the ache inside me.

After a deep breath, I bring it to my lips and take a mouthful. The moment the liquid hits my throat, I sputter, grabbing my throat. “Holy cow. How can people drink this? It tastes like poison.” Laughter bursts out of me.

“I take it you’ve tasted poison before.” Bryant chuckles alongside me. He takes the drink from my hand. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. I’m having cocktails brought up.”

“Okay, thank you.” A thought crosses my mind. My body stiffens. What if the person who brings up the cocktails sees me with Bryant?

I’ve come on this cruise running away from rumors. It would be a bad idea to spark new ones. No one can know about us, not even Lynn and Jillian.

I rise from the couch. “I need the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Bryant nods with a smile and brings his phone to his ear.

With the bathroom door closed, I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, while listening to Bryant call the bar downstairs. I look different somehow, my eyes a little wild but not in a bad way, just more alive. Usually I’m an ugly crier, but not this time. Today, the remnant tears only make my eyes sparkle. Or maybe I’m choosing to focus on the positive parts of me instead of the negative.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings. I sit on the covered toilet and wait for the other person to leave.

“He’s gone now,” Bryant calls out finally. How does he know I’m in here hiding?

“Okay.” I stand, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“Stop it,” I whisper to my reflection. “You’re a strong, confident woman. This is your night. Don’t mess it up.”

I find Bryant taking a sip of my drink. “I hope you like piña coladas.” He hands me the glass, which is cool against my palm. “It’s fruity, and not too strong.”

“Thank you.” Taking a seat, I bring the glass to my lips, wondering which part had touched his lips, wanting to drink from it, to taste him again.

The cocktail is so delicious that I drink it in a hurry and reach for the second one on the silver tray.

“I think you should take a small break between the two.” He stands in front of me, head tilted. “There’s still alcohol in there, you know.” He sits in Mary Jane.

When he told me last time he’d named his armchair Mary Jane, I’d laughed so hard tears came to my eyes. What kind of person names his chair? But I do like that Bryant has a sense of humor.

“I’m well aware.” We don’t speak anymore as I finish my cocktail, more slowly this time, while he observes me from underneath his lashes.

Once I lower the glass onto the crystal-topped coffee table, he leans back in his seat. “May I ask what upset you so much it sent you running to me?” He grins. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

I draw my legs up on the couch and hug them to me, resting my chin on my knees. A part of me doesn’t want to open up that much to him, to bond us even more, when I know we won’t last. The other part needs someone to talk to. “My mom called, and she . . . Let’s just say she has a way of rubbing me the wrong way. To be honest, she drives me nuts. She refuses to understand why I’m divorced. Why can’t she accept that—”

“Hang on a second.” Bryant sits up ramrod straight, eyes narrowed. “You’re divorced?”

“I . . .” I sigh. “Yes, I am.” I hate that I have to tell him this part of my story, but why does it even matter if we won’t be more than friends with benefits? “It was a mistake. Getting married to Dustin, my ex-husband.”

“I get that. Go on.”

“We were married for less than twenty-four hours when we decided it’s over.”

“Sorry, what? I don’t understand. Why did you?” He runs a hand over his head.

“Want a divorce?” I chew my lip. Now that I’ve opened the can of worms, I might as well finish what I started. It might be best for him to know more about me so he can decide whether he still wants me in his bed.

I close my eyes and dive head first into my humiliation. “I was a virgin before we got married. I was brought up to believe that I should only give myself to the man I marry. I guess it was made easier by the fact that I never came across someone I wanted to—” I shake my head. “Well, Dustin was not a virgin.” A tear beads a corner of my eye. “He and I were friends before we became more.

“Thinking back now, I realize he was more interested in sleeping with a virgin. As if having sex with one would be some kind of sexual awakening. He was disappointed when it wasn’t.” My eyes open and tears trickle down my cheeks. I don’t meet Bryant’s eyes. My focus is on the miniature, metal dog statue on the coffee table. “It was disappointing for me too. It was . . . It was a little painful, but I knew to expect it. I never thought it would end so fast, that it wouldn’t feel good.” A bitter laugh explodes from my lips. “Once it was over, he left me alone in our hotel room, on our wedding night. He came back two hours later to pretty much tell me that since I wasn’t the porn star he thought I’d be, he can’t see us having a marriage.” I place a palm on my swimming head. “Why am I even telling you all this?”

“Don’t stop talking.” The intensity in his lowered voice warms my chest.

“There’s nothing more to say.” I keep my gaze on the statue. If he’s going to run, it will be now, and I’ll have to accept it. It’s good for him to know what he was about to get himself into.

Bryant releases a breath and comes to sit next to me on the couch, taking hold of both my legs and twisting me around to face him.

Saying nothing, he places a finger under my chin, raising it. He gives me a look that makes my pulse race. I try to look away again, but he won’t let me. His hand is around my chin now and his lips are moving toward me in what seems to be slow motion. It could also be the alcohol.

Suddenly, his lips are on mine, moving against them like warm, soft velvet. His tongue pushes my lips apart and my world blurs.