Make You Mine

by Macy Beckett

He was missing the point. “I’m not talking about birth control. I’m talking about mastery over your life. You’re not destined to fail, and you’re not cursed.”

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know, hon. Sorry. I’m just in a weird mood tonight. Forget I said anything.” He scooted her off his lap. “Why don’t you head back to my suite and get the bed warmed up, okay? I’ll be there in a jiff.”

  Reluctantly, she left him with a kiss. She hoped she’d gotten through to Marc, but when he came to bed later that night, he made love to her like a soldier headed for war . . . with one exception. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes. His lips scarcely strayed from hers, his hands brushing her face as if to memorize each freckle and eyelash, but no matter how many times she tried to hold his gaze, he refused the emotional connection.

  She understood what he was doing—avoiding intimacy and preparing for the inevitable breakup, because that was all he’d ever known. A chill settled in Allie’s soul when she realized she’d lose Marc unless she changed his way of thinking.

  And fast.

  • • •

  The next morning, she served her breakfast pastries and set off in search of Ella-Claire, hoping an estrogen-enhanced brainstorm session would yield some ideas. She found Ella standing behind the purser’s desk with Alex, the two of them engaged in an intense thumb war that rendered them oblivious to her approaching footsteps.

  “Hey, back off, cheater,” Ella said, pushing Alex’s chest to put another inch between them. With her other hand, she gripped his fingers and hooked a thumb around his. She had him pinned for an instant, but he wriggled free. In clear desperation to win, she crowded him and launched a new attack.

  Alex chuckled. “Who’s cheating now?”

  “All’s fair in love and thumb war. I’m taking you down, buddy.”

  She used her free hand to tickle his ribs, and Alex retaliated in an assault on her tummy. Seconds later, the thumb war gave way to a full-on tickle fight, the echo of their laughter reverberating through the lobby. It didn’t take long for Alex to overpower his opponent.

  Securing both of Ella’s wrists behind her back, he pinned her against the counter and smiled in victory. Alex moved forward until nothing but a sliver of air separated them. He swallowed hard, the mood shifting as his gaze dropped to Ella-Claire’s mouth and held there.

  Gracious, these two had it bad.

  Just when Alex leaned down for a kiss, Allie cleared her throat.

  Alex glanced up, his eyes flying wide. “Allie!” He released his buddy and jumped back as if she’d caught him doing something wrong. Which she had. Marc would pummel Alex six feet under if he discovered his brother putting the moves on Ella-Claire.

  “Hey, there,” Allie said, folding her arms on the countertop. “Whatcha up to?”

  “Nothing!” Alex glanced around the desk until he found a clipboard, then snatched it with a shaky fist. “Uh, I should run. I’ve got . . . uh . . . stuff to do.”

  “Mmm,” Allie said with a knowing look. “Sounds important.”

  Ella-Claire casually handed him a sealed envelope. “While you’re out, will you drop this by room 215?”

  All too happy to comply, Alex grabbed the letter, skirted the counter, and took off down the side hallway like a felon on the run. There goes a man with a guilty conscience, Allie thought. His partner in crime straightened her sleek brown ponytail and pretended nothing had happened.

  “What’s going on with you two?” Allie asked.

  Ella made doe eyes and blinked in ignorance. “Nothing. We’re just friends.”

  “Liar,” Allie scoffed. “What if it’d been Marc instead of me who walked in here and broke up your little tickle fight?”

  Ella dropped the innocent act. “You’re not going to say anything to him, are you? Because I swear nothing would’ve happened.”

  “He was about to kiss you.”

  Ella dismissed the argument with a flick of her wrist. “I wouldn’t have let him.” She leaned in and rested both arms on the counter, mirroring Allie’s pose. “Look, I like Alex. He’s my bestie. But he’s a player—always has been. No matter how much we flirt, I keep him in the friend zone. I’m not stupid enough to fall for a Dumont.”

  Allie’s face went slack. Even Marc’s sister knew it was lunacy to try to tame his wild heart. That didn’t bode well.

  Ella-Claire realized her mistake, instantly stammering to correct herself. “I don’t mean Marc—he’s different from his brothers. I’ve seen the way he watches you, Allie. He’s totally smitten.”

  Allie caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Really?”

  “I swear,” Ella said, holding up one hand in an oath. “I’ve never seen him like this. You’ve given me hope.”

  Allie raised a brow in question.

  “That he might actually slow down and let himself be happy,” Ella said. “I think you’re good for Marc—and that he can be good for you, too.”

  “I want that to be true,” Allie said. “But there’s a lot of baggage in the way.”

  Ella-Claire gestured to the extra chair behind the purser’s desk. “I need to finish the billing. Want to help me stuff envelopes while we chat?”

  That sounded perfect. Talking always came easier for Allie when she busied her hands. She sat side by side with Ella, working while she explained the recent change she’d noticed in Marc.

  “He’s already pulling away,” Allie said. “I can feel it.”

  Ella licked an envelope, making a yuck face at the glue. “Are you sure? Because it seems like he can’t get enough of you.”

  “Positive. Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

  “I think so,” Ella told her. “Is that where you believe in something so much that you make it happen?”

  “Sort of,” Allie said. “But on a subconscious level. Like if a person is convinced he’s going to lose his job, he might pull back from his coworkers, then start slacking off and showing up late.”

  “Which results in him getting fired.”

  “Exactly.” Allie folded another room service bill, creasing it with her fingernail. “On the surface, Marc says he doesn’t believe in the curse. But I think he buys into it just enough to set low expectations for himself. Last night he basically told me our days are numbered. Now I can barely get him to look at me.”

  “You think he’s going to break it off?”

  “No, not yet,” Allie said. “But I think over time he’ll sabotage his happiness. Just like his daddy and his pawpaw. People learn what they live. The curse isn’t real, but it might as well be, because the Dumonts keep perpetuating the cycle.”

  Ella went silent for a while, gazing at the lobby ceiling as if the answer might appear up there among the chandelier crystals. “So how do we undo a lifetime of superstition, bad habits, and even worse examples?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

  And Allie didn’t have one red cent toward the answer. She scowled at the framed photo of Marc’s great-great-grandfather that hung on the wall inside the purser’s office. Edward Dumont bore a slight resemblance to Marc, but his chin was weak and his eyes were cold. He looked like the kind of man who hadn’t taken many risks, despite the fact that he’d made a thriving business of the Belle.

  Ella-Claire followed Allie’s gaze to the portrait. “He’s the one who started this mess. I heard he had a fiancée but left her at the altar. He never got married after that, not that it stopped him from having a gaggle of kids with three different women.”

  Something compelled Allie to study the portrait more closely. She stood and approached it, not sure what she was looking for, and gripped the frame to pull the picture down from the wall. It was bolted in place, but the backing budged just enough to dislodge a piece of paper that had been wedged behind it. Onion-thin and yellowed with age, the page
drifted to the floor. When she picked it up, she saw a letter to Edward dated 1915. It was signed by someone named Silas Dumont.

  “Check this out,” she said, returning to the desk to show Ella-Claire. “There was an old note stuck behind the picture.”

  Ella scooted her chair closer, and together they read the letter in silence. It was brief, but impactful, shedding light on the origins of the Dumont curse.

  “Wow,” Ella said. “That explains a lot.”

  “Edward and Memère.” Allie shook her head. “I had no idea they were lovers.”

  “Not just lovers. Engaged.”

  Allie glanced down to find her forearm covered in goose bumps. Carefully, she folded the note and tucked it inside a book for safekeeping. “Do you mind if I hold on to this? I want to show my sister.” Devyn was going to eat this up.

  “Be my guest,” Ella said. “But you might not want to let Marc see it. Nothing will convince him the curse is fake if he reads that.”

  • • •

  Marc’s right arm tingled, the blood flow interrupted by Allie’s sleeping head resting on his shoulder. But he made no move to wriggle free. He lived for these quiet moments alone with her when they lay so close, he felt the thump of her heartbeat against his chest. If he shut his eyes and concentrated, he could slow his pulse to match hers. Then they were like one person, connected on the most basic levels—body to body, heart to heart.

  Cheesy, but true.

  Carefully as possible, he stretched to turn off the alarm before it woke her, then pulled the sheet over her breasts so she’d stay warm. He didn’t care if he made her late. Today they’d dock in New Orleans and the trip would end. They’d resume their separate lives, connecting just as much as the curse would allow. Instinctively, he knew his time with her was finite.

  Work could wait. Allie couldn’t.

  Until recently he hadn’t understood guys who lost their shit over a woman. Years ago, he’d taken a date to see Jerry Maguire, that sappy-ass movie starring Tom Cruise. When the actor had uttered his famous line “You complete me” to his onscreen girlfriend, Marc had laughed out loud and suggested that Tom surrender his Man Card.

  But Marc wasn’t laughing now.

  The joke was on him. He never imagined a person could complete him the way Allie did. She understood his twisted family dynamic and held her own around each of his brothers—even Beau. She supported the Belle and earned the respect of guests and crew alike. She was more than just a lover, and Marc finally knew what he’d been missing all these years.

  His other half.

  Truth be told, that scared him. Because losing Allie would do more than hurt; it would leave him incomplete—torn and worthless. He could barely stand to think about life without her.

  Reflexively, his arms tightened, rousing her from deep slumber. An adorable whine rose from her throat, and she burrowed her cheek deeper into his shoulder. Right before drifting off again, she murmured, “Love you, baby.”

  Marc’s breath locked inside his throat.

  Allie loved him?

  Had she really meant that, or was she just talking in her sleep? And did he feel the same way? Having never been in love before, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t imagine feeling anything stronger than the swelling behind his ribs. He wanted to whisper it back but couldn’t manage to shake the words off his tongue.

  He thought about the conversation they’d had a few nights ago in the pilothouse, how Allie had promised he wouldn’t turn out like his daddy. Part of him wanted to believe he could keep the flame alive if he tried hard enough. The other part of him warned that everyone felt that way, especially in the beginning. Nobody got married expecting to divorce.

  Besides, Marc had never spent more than a few weeks with one woman. Was he capable of monogamy? He’d never forgive himself if he ran around on Allie like his father had done to every woman he’d ever “loved.”

  But what if they could defy the odds? Shouldn’t he at least try to make a go of it?

  Hell, he didn’t know. At this point he was thinking in circles, and he knew a better way to spend his time than brooding. He nuzzled his way to the side of Allie’s throat and woke her with openmouthed kisses, suckling the weak spot beneath her ear until she writhed against him and moaned his name.

  The day could wait.

  • • •

  When he escorted her to the galley an hour later, Beau glanced up, his head covered in a ridiculous do-rag. He frowned and pointed an egg at Marc. “You made my pastry chef late, Captain.”

  Marc grinned at him. “My apologies, Chef. I can personally guarantee that it won’t happen again.”

  “Yeah,” Beau grumbled. “Only because we dock before lunch.”

  Beau cracked the egg against his stainless steel bowl and began whisking in a blur of movement, but amusement sparked behind his eyes. And he wasn’t the only one.

  It seemed the entire staff wore a collective smile this morning in anticipation of returning home. The lone man out, Marc didn’t want the voyage to end.

  But he gave himself a mental kick in the pants and remembered his duties. If he didn’t make his guests feel special, they might spend their future vacation dollars elsewhere. With a nod good-bye at Allie, Marc left to make his rounds.

  He’d just crossed the lobby when a flash of metal caught his eye. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the Gibsons approaching from the stairs. The bride beamed brighter than her glinting lip rings and tackle-hugged him.

  “Thank you,” she spoke into his lapels as her arms squeezed his waist. “I can’t tell you how much that book meant to me.”

  Marc didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was talking about, but he patted her shoulder and played it cool. “My pleasure. I hope you had a nice honeymoon.”

  “The best,” she said, gazing at her husband. “We’ll be back for our anniversary.”

  That was exactly what Marc wanted to hear. The newlyweds drifted toward the outside deck, allowing him to continue to the service desk.

  Ella-Claire dashed around the counter when she spotted him and threw both arms around his neck. Folks sure were in a hugging mood today.

  “What’s this for?” he asked.

  She clucked her tongue at him. “Can’t a sister be proud? You officially rocked your first trip as captain.”

  A prideful smile lifted his lips. “I wouldn’t say I rocked it . . .”

  “Don’t be modest.” Ella straightened his tie and brushed a bit of lint off his jacket. “It wasn’t all smooth sailing, but you handled everything like a pro. You were born to do this, Marc.”

  He shrugged her off and gave another grin. “At least I didn’t sink us.”

  “There you go again with the modesty.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then linked their arms and led him toward the counter. “And I know it’s none of my business, but I think there’s another reason you’ve looked so happy lately. . . .” Her voice trailed off, thick with romantic implications.

  Marc didn’t bother to deny it, but he didn’t take the bait either. Not that his silence stopped Ella from meddling.

  “Can I give you some sisterly advice?” she asked, blinking those big blue eyes at him.

  “Fine.”

  Ella took his face between her palms. “Allie’s good for you. I like her. Don’t mess it up.”

  Marc sniffed a laugh. She made it sound so easy. “Is that all?”

  “Listen,” she said, “once we get home, it’ll be easy to slip back into old habits. If Allie’s important to you, then tell her. Make her a priority. Because as much as you love the Belle, this boat won’t grow old with you or care for you when you’re sick.”

  “I’ve got health insurance, and the Belle’s already old. She’ll outlive us all.”

  Ella-Claire frowned at him. “You know what I mean.”

 
Yeah, Marc understood what she meant. “I know.”

  “So talk to her,” Ella pleaded. She tapped him on the cheek. “It wouldn’t kill you to make a commitment, either. Prove that you want her—make a grand gesture. Every woman wants to feel wanted.”

  “Deep thoughts,” Marc teased. “You’re a real Plato.”

  Ella shoved him, knocking him back a step. “Don’t be an ass.”

  Marc drew her in and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Ella was a sweetheart, even if she was bossy. “I’ll do my best.”

  He spent the next several hours laughing and schmoozing, but his brain had one foot out the door. His sister was right. When they docked in New Orleans, Allie would tow her little wheeled suitcase back to her camelback store, and he’d sleep alone tonight.

  Marc frowned.

  He didn’t want to sleep alone. He’d grown accustomed to the warmth of Allie’s body draped across his, the soothing rise and fall of her chest, and the scents of sugared vanilla and sex on his sheets. Of course he’d keep seeing her, but at this point, dating would be a step backward.

  Ella had said he should make a grand gesture. Maybe he should ask Allie to move in with him—they’d practically lived together these past couple of weeks anyhow. It seemed sudden, not to mention a little terrifying, but the more Marc thought about it, the more he liked the idea. An excited flutter tickled his stomach when he pictured Allie moving in her things, filling his closet with her pretty sundresses and his bureau with her lingerie—even that silly polka-dot nightgown she’d worn last week.

  Yes, he decided. He’d ask her to live with him. It seemed like the right move.

  • • •

  The afternoon passed slower than a geriatric slug. Marc found himself growing more nervous with each minute, and by the time the guests departed and he dismissed the nonessential staff, he had to run upstairs to change his sweaty shirt.

  He damn near had a heart attack when he noticed Allie had cleared out all her bottles and tubes of girlie products from his bathroom. She wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye, would she?

  Buttoning his shirt as he went, he tore down the hallway to the stairwell, then rushed to her room on the third floor. He knocked several times, but she didn’t answer.