Yasmin Sullivan - Love on the High Seas

“Thank you.”

Angelina shifted her purse and her laptop carry-on from one shoulder to the other and kept step with the line. She looked ahead of her in the line to see how much farther she had to go and found a pair of simmering brown eyes peering back at her. They belonged to a handsome chestnut-brown face that was wearing an intense expression of interest—so intense that she felt naked under the sly perusal.

Angelina flushed, and her cheeks grew hot. Her hand sprang to the buttons lining the front of her dress, checking in case one had come undone. She wasn’t sure how long she held his gaze; it seemed an hour but couldn’t have been for more than a minute.

A woman behind her bumped against her, and Angelina was startled out of her reverie. She turned briefly to the woman, and by the time she turned back, the man had gone around a corner.

She could have just imagined it. He could have been looking beyond her, or he could have simply seen that she was one of the few other African-Americans there. But perhaps that also made it clear that she was alone. She might need to be a bit more careful, more aware of her surroundings.

“You need to have some fun for a change,” Safire had said.

“A singles mixer isn’t my idea of fun right now. I have a semester starting soon. I have an article I haven’t finished. I have—”

“You have to get a life is what,” Safire said and then laughed. “When was the last time you had nookie?”

“Now, listen here. I might need to talk to you about—”

“Oh, no. Don’t start in on me. I have a life. And I enjoy it just fine. This is about you. Relax a little. Meet some people. See some places.”

Angelina could tell that her younger sister was treading gently to spare her sensibilities, and it was just as well. Her sister had a mouth on her that could make a sailor blush. She envied her sister’s freedom, but for Angelina herself, a bit of reading next to the ocean would be a wonderful break. And with the passport fiasco, laying low seemed like a good idea.

When she stepped off the elevator six stories up, the line was gone. People were relaxing in lounge chairs and looking over the railing at the Port of Miami. She found a spot on the banister for the departure, wondering if she’d feel the ship move or if it was simply too large.

Being on deck made what was happening real. She—Angelina Lewis—was actually on a cruise ship going somewhere.

When the horn sounded the departure call, Angelina was exhilarated. She didn’t feel the push off, but she could see the landscape begin to shift as they pulled out of the harbor. She held on to the rail and leaned over, gauging their movement from the receding pier and leaving behind the workaday world as a dark blue expanse opened before her.

For a moment, she forgot about her lists and her obligations. For a moment, she let it all sink in and felt herself enjoy the rush.

She stepped down from the rail and lifted her laptop bag to her shoulder again. She was already smiling when she turned around and found herself again locked in the distant gaze of sensuous brown eyes.

He was across the deck with a small group of other Black men, and he was staring at her, trapping her against the rail. Under his gaze, Angelina felt goose bumps run up her back. Her nipples tightened against her bra, and butterflies began to churn in her stomach. His eyes were trained on her, sensual ebony ovals above angular cheekbones and a rugged jawline. He smiled in her direction with thick, lush lips.

Angelina’s hand fluttered to her chest, and she took a deep breath. Was he looking at her? She glanced to each side. On one there was a family of five still looking toward the shoreline; on the other was a group of teenagers making a lively ruckus. She turned back. It must be her. She felt a tingle in the pit of her stomach and had to stop herself from turning away and fleeing.

He was leaning on the railing with his foot cocked up on one of the lounge chairs in self-assured ease. His elbows rested at his sides atop the rail, and like everything about his pose, his cool confidence suggested that he was out of her league.

He had on a short-sleeved white Oxford shirt that was tucked into pleated blue slacks. The breeze fluttered his shirt along his firm arms up to his broad shoulders, and his top buttons opened to a peek at his hard chest. He was talking with his friends, but all the while he was looking her way.

The brashness of his scrutiny sent shivers through Angelina’s body, and her insides buzzed with nervous energy. As self-conscious as she was under his open gaze, something in those eyes made her pulse skip. She had never had such a visceral reaction to anyone before and hoped that it couldn’t be read in her features. She pressed her palm against her midriff to calm herself but had to look away.

Angelina had been called her sister’s name all afternoon. Now, on an impulse, she decided to be a little like her baby sis. She took a breath and turned back to the simmering brown eyes and met their gaze, deliberately staring back with an audacious smile on her lips.

She was startled that she was being so brazen.

He seemed to hold her gaze, just as he did before, but nothing else changed. Then, when one of his friends said something, he turned toward the speaker and laughed, breaking his link with her. She certainly couldn’t pull it off the way Safire could. So much for the attempt.

Angelina shifted the load on her shoulder and stepped from the railing. Unfortunately, her laptop bag had gotten wedged between the rungs of the railing and toppled her back. She unhooked the bag and launched herself from the banister. No, she certainly couldn’t pull off what Safire could.

Had he seen her fumble? Embarrassed, she looked toward the warm brown eyes, but the face that held them was directed elsewhere. Well, she was no Safire. She didn’t know what had gotten into her in the first place.

She walked to the elevator, pulled out her key and went to find her cabin.

Angelina’s stateroom had everything she would have expected and more, including a balcony on the water. And luckily, she wasn’t sharing; she had an oasis all to herself. The first thing on her list was unpacking before dinner, and her suitcase had been delivered so she had only to plop it on the footrest to begin.

The pieces she’d added were on top, so she pulled out a couple of capris, a couple of skirts, a few blouses, a dress and some light tops to go over whatever nonsense Safire had packed for herself. And thank goodness. Safire’s clothes were much as she expected.

There were several cocktail dresses, all low-cut and thigh-high. Angelina couldn’t imagine herself strutting around in them. The shorts were okay, but Safire had packed skimpy tank tops and racerback T-shirts to go with them. The skirts were all mini and the tops were off-the-shoulder blouses or camisoles. Even the nightclothes she’d packed were sheer, midthigh numbers.

No wonder the case was only half-full when Safire brought it. Everything in it was tiny—just as she’d expected. The last piece of clothing she pulled out was Safire’s swimsuit. Such a pity she hadn’t remembered her own. She could ball up Safire’s bikini and make it disappear inside her fist.

Angelina stood in front of the closet taking inventory. She didn’t have enough of her own stuff, so she would have to make do with Safire’s pieces. She might have to get another swimsuit on the ship and perhaps a couple of oversize T-shirts to sleep in.

She hadn’t budgeted for extra clothes—at least not at what they would cost in floating boutiques. The light cover-ups she’d brought would supplement the dresses and tank tops, and she didn’t plan to go to many events, so she should be okay. After all, it was a cruise. She could be a little like her sister for a little while. She probably wouldn’t see anyone here again in life.