Her body language shouted defensiveness, and Wes clearly didn’t have any trouble comprehending. Without a word, he left Erin standing there, the breeze whispering something that sounded like “curse” in her ears.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that this jinx was actually a good thing.
Because, maybe, just maybe, this curse was fate’s way of protecting her from making yet another huge mistake.
8
WES DIDN’T KNOW HOW MANY hours he stayed away from the cabin. Two? Three? It didn’t matter.
All he knew was that every time he found himself stopping to take stock of what’d just happened with Erin, realization crystallized his brain.
The ocean, he kept thinking, staring out at the black depths. It was his life. And he was this damned ship, floating and drifting even when it was anchored.
Erin might as well have told him that he was just an object to her-a plaything that existed only to amuse. And, truth be told, the old Wes would’ve been more than happy to oblige. But, just this once, he’d allowed himself to think he could be meaningful, and it’d backfired in his face.
So why try with her again? Why not just go back to what he was comfortable with? Life had been good to him this far, so why was he pining for something else that could turn out to hurt him much more in the long run?
Forget Erin, he told himself, abandoning his most recent spot by the deck railing. Forget your damned crusade to matter to her.
He finally went inside, making his way to the ninth-deck casino. Going back to the cabin would only be an exercise in futility, and who the hell needed more “curses,” character assassination and cock-blocking?
As he entered the gaming area, complete with slot machines and blackjack tables, he told himself he was happy to be back to normal.
Whatever normal was these days…
He watched all the silk-and-satin people laughing at a roulette table, women in pearls hanging over men with loosened ties and slicked-back hair. Music from the disco next door pounded through the area-something hard, something that was bound to make females writhe on the dance floor with sinuous invitation. Maybe he should go over there.
But when he spied three women near the roulette wheel giving him the eye, Wes hesitated. Two brunettes and one blonde.
Blonde. Short, sassy hair, just like Erin’s style…
Wes turned away from them. Deciding to get a drink, he ambled to the bar and ordered a whiskey straight up. While he waited for it to arrive, he surveyed the lively room some more, avoiding the trio of lustful temptation because he didn’t want to be reminded of what awaited him back in the cabin.
Or what didn’t await him.
Ding-ding-ding, went the machines. Hooray, went the people at one blackjack table as a dealer busted.
All the sounds and sights melded into a gray blur. Even his whiskey, when it was served, tasted dull.
Where had his capacity for pleasure gone? And why couldn’t he stop himself from wanting to just go back to his room to be near her?
Down the bar a few seats, Wes became aware of a pickup in progress. As he absently sipped his drink, he saw that an older man was lounging on a stool, ice rattling in his cocktail glass as he talked to two women who had to be in their twenties. The girls were glamorous in that way women were when they looked at a fashion magazine and dressed the way it told them to for a night on the town: big hair, glitter on their smooth skin, skimpy halter dresses with short skirts. The man, though, was a different story: pewter hair, bourbon-heavy gaze, his collar opened enough to show a tanned, gray-hair-sprinkled chest.
Wes negligently listened in on the conversation, having nothing better to do.
“…was in Hawaii on a layover when I met two women, just as pretty as you, in the hotel bar,” the man said. “The big island is full of beautiful girls. Is that where you’re both from?” His voice was slightly slurred, but friendly.
One of the girls, a redhead, who looked like the ringleader, answered. “We’re from Chula Vista, near San Diego,” she said, tone halfway to disinterested.
But the guy wasn’t gauging that. He also wasn’t catching the glance the women shared as he continued his story. It was a glance that predicted their escape from the barfly, a glance that made Wes feel sorry for the older man. Wes wanted to tell him to turn back to his drink and stop making a play for this prey; he was embarrassed for him.
“Yeah,” he said, “I was a pilot for years. Traveled a lot of places…”
The girls nodded, trading another loaded look.
Ready to go? What do you think? How’re we going to get away from him?
“Oh!” the redhead interrupted, looking toward the casino’s exit. “I see Debbie!” She turned to the man. “Our friend’s outside waiting for us.”
The pilot stopped talking, finally getting it.
“It was nice talking to you,” said the quieter girl.
“Yes, nice meeting you,” said the redhead as she linked arms with her friend on the way out. “Have fun tonight.”
The older man didn’t even have time to respond before the duo darted away. As they left, they giggled to each other, loudly enough for the pilot to hear.
Mortified now, Wes waited a few moments, scanning the room again and pretending to be so absorbed in the activity that he hadn’t heard the exchange next to him. When he finally chanced a look at the pilot, the older man snagged his gaze.
Wes’s world seemed to web into cracks. In the pieces, he saw himself in the other guy-Wes Ryan in twenty-five years, wrung out, an object of scorn for all the single girls he’d still be trying to hit on.
Slowly, the pilot turned toward the bar, hunching over his drink.
Shaken, Wes quietly ordered another round for the man, paid for it and left.
The walk back to the room was like a trip through a silent maze. Or maybe that’s just how it felt, because frat boys wove down the corridors and parties spilled from open doors. But Wes didn’t absorb any of it.
When he finally got to his cabin, he unlocked the door, slipping inside the darkness and standing there until his eyesight adjusted. Erin lay in bed sleeping, one arm sprawled over his pillow, her face angled toward the half-curtained window.
After stripping and putting on a pair of pajama bottoms, he slipped into bed, covering himself with the sheet. Tenderly, he took Erin’s hand from his pillow, holding it to his chest as he faced her.
He wished she’d just open her eyes, as he already had, and really see him.
But she never did.
9
ERIN AWOKE TO THE SOFT morning sun peeking through a slit of curtain. The light had the quality of dawn to it: weak but promising.
She blinked, suddenly aware that she wasn’t alone in bed. Turning her head to the side, she felt her body tighten at the view of Wes, one muscled, dusky arm sprawled above his head in slumber. His hair was tufted over the pillow in lazy disarray, a shadow stubbling his jawline. The bed sheets had bunched down to just barely cover his belly; a trail of hair hinted at what the sheet covered.
Erin ached to slide her hand under the linen and explore him. She could almost feel his length in her hand, could imagine coaxing an erection with long, sultry, persuasive strokes.
Clit stiffening, she touched herself instead, slipping her fingers beneath the sheet, between her legs, into the crease of her sex. She pressed where it pained her, then rubbed until she grew damp. Burying her face in the crook of her arm, she quietly fantasized that it was Wes stimulating her…
But it wasn’t.
She lost momentum and, in pure frustration, stopped altogether, disgusted with all her hang-ups.
Damned jinx. It wasn’t even letting her have sex with herself.
Disgruntled, she stealthily got out of bed, careful not to disturb Wes as she stepped into the shower. She made the water brisk. Very, very brisk.
After a token few seconds of symbolic cold showering, she adjusted the spray to get hotter. At the same time, she co
uldn’t help but wish that last night’s falling out had never happened, that he would just join her, fitting his body to the back of hers, his penis prodding her between the thighs. As he grew harder, she’d grow wetter, spreading open for him until he thrust inside, tearing her apart and making her forget about…
Ack !
The water had gone cold, so she shut it off. Thanks, curse, she thought. Can’t you even allow me to fantasize properly?
Confusion made the rest of her routine clumsy. Her stomach clenched as she replayed the confrontation over and over. Boy, she’d been a real winner, picking a fight with Wes to keep her own heart safe. Smart, real smart. Just remembering the disappointment on his face when she’d pretty much told him that he couldn’t be taken seriously devastated her-and puzzled her.
Dammit. She didn’t want him to be more than a fling. Why couldn’t he have just stayed that way?
Last night, after returning to the room, she’d punished herself mentally while waiting for him: hours of cussing at herself and wondering how she could repair the damage, if at all. Finally, eyes burning, she’d fallen into deep, blessed oblivion, touching his pillow and realizing on the cusp of unconsciousness that she wished it were Wes instead.
As she combed out her hair, she carried on with her self-chiding. If Wes had found another way to amuse himself last night-God, what if he had?-she…Well, she wouldn’t blame him. Right? Definitely not. In fact, if she were him, she would’ve lost patience with this whole sexless cruise a long time ago. But he’d stuck it out, much to her surprise. Until last night, that is.
Did he really feel something for her?
You’re not ready for that, Erin, said her protective ’fraidy cat within.
Yet, when she came out of the bathroom to find Wes lying on his stomach with a pillow over his head, her heart wrenched with reminders of how good he’d been to her, how patient, how affectionate.
If I take this chance with you, will I end up right back where I was after William? she asked Wes silently while watching the rise and fall of each breath he took. Except will I come out too bitter to recover this time? Or should I go with what my deepest hopes are telling me? Should I trust you?
Erin must’ve stood there for a long time just looking at him, the sunlight slanting over his bare back like a clock hand stretching from one hour to another.
Ultimately, she gathered her guts, then scribbled a note telling him she’d be at the Lido restaurant with her usual morning coffee.
But what if he was too ticked off to meet her?
Yessss , ’fraidy cat said. Then you’re safe.
She left the cabin, steeling herself for his decision either way.
WHEN WES FOUND THE NOTE, he quickly got ready, images of that pilot at the bar still haunting him. To make things even more nerve-racking, he had a million questions, too.
Why did Erin want to meet with him away from the cabin? To smooth things over without the diversion of sex distracting them, or to break things off, period?
If Wes had any say in the matter-and he damned well did-all the curses and barriers to being with her would end right now.
He took the stairs to the appointed Lido restaurant and, there, on the nearly deserted deck, he found Erin, dressed in white jeans and a sweatshirt with the Yes, Sweetie candy shop logo on it. With the ship anchored far away from shore, the ocean’s breeze tousled her short blond hair.
Fluid ecstasy shot through his veins, pumping him with an emotion he’d never given a name to before. But, now, he thought he knew what it was-or what it could be, if he were only given a chance to make it solid.
He walked to the table, sat down, hoping she was feeling the same thing at seeing him first thing in the morning.
When they locked gazes, something exploded in the space between: a loaded shift of awareness that made her gray eyes go silver. A magnificent smile lit over her lips, and she perked up in her chair.
But then her smile turned shy, as if she remembered all the awkward anguish from last night. “I got out of bed around six. I thought you might want to sleep in, so I came up here to wait.”
Wrong. She’d run away from him. Or maybe that goddamned curse had struck again, and somehow forced her to leave the cabin before they might have made love. Who the hell knew.
He blinked. Had he just referred to “making love”? Wes hadn’t ever really thought of it that way before. “Screw,” “boink,” “get nasty”-he’d referred to sex every which way but this.
“I didn’t need to sleep in. It’s not like I did anything to exert myself,” he said, hoping she understood what he was hinting at: that he hadn’t fooled around on her last night, even though many scantily clad opportunities had been running around that casino.
Relief seemed to blanket her, and she chanced a wider smile. “So…” She put down her coffee cup. “It’s Fun Day at Sea. You up for some miniature golf? Some drinks by the pool while we listen to the reggae band?”
She paused there, pursing her lips. Neither of them should even dare mention sex right now, but it still flapped in the air like a torn, hardly forgotten banner.
“Or maybe,” Erin added, “we just need to talk.”
Nerves screeching-this was it, everything he’d been waiting for-he leaned forward. “I’m sorry you thought that all I had in mind was a weekend-long bangathon. Maybe I can’t help coming off like a wolf. Don’t get me wrong-I was hoping we would get around to it…” He sighed. “But that’s not entirely why I asked you to come.”
“Actually, Wes, I think asking me to come is what all my issues are about.” She traced the edge of the table, but then lifted her head, as if forcing herself to face whatever was going on in that head of hers. “This curse thing has really thrown a wrench in all the fun I was ready to have with you. Believe me, I was planning to spend a lot of time in that bed, but-” She motioned around with her hands, yet that didn’t conjure up an explanation.
He wished he could help her figure out her own mind. Hell, if he could somehow erase all the discomfort she was obviously feeling right now, he would. He’d take it all on himself.
Her lips parted as she seemed to read that on his face. “Wes…” She trailed off.
“Why don’t you just tell me what’s happening?”
Erin hesitated, knowing she had to come clean. But the bald truth would change everything. It would officially turn a good-time affair into the real deal, and from that point on, it’d go downhill. It’d bring all that helplessness and anger back because she didn’t know how else to handle the sort of rejection William had introduced into her life.
But…what if that didn’t happen?
You’ve already found ‘the one.’
Once again, she glanced at Wes. He was watching her with barely contained…what? What was it?
And why wasn’t it scaring her more now that she was confronting it head-on?
Bolstered, she knew what she had to do: take control of this curse. Stop being life’s little pawn. Make a decision and move out of the limbo fear had stuck her in.
“I’m so sorry for what happened,” she said, choked. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t even mean what I insinuated about your being no more than a player. See, I’ve had sex with one man in my life, and it’s always meant…well, the skies opening, the seas parting. I thought I’d be able to adjust my philosophy with a guy of your-let’s face it-reputation, but then emotions entered the equation, and they were never supposed to. Not with someone like the person I thought you were.” She stopped.
Wes gripped the arms of his chair. “Go on.”
Here it went, here it-
“That prediction? The fortune-teller?” Go, go, go… “You were right. It was about more than just business or lifelines.”
He waited, but she was so nervous that she stood, fretful.
He got out of his seat, too, somehow understanding her need to move around while doing this.
Without a word, he took her hand, enclosing it in his all-encompass
ing grip. She held tightly to him, following him toward the stairs.
“Madame Karma also told me that I’d already found ‘the one,’” she finally said.
His fingers tightened around hers.
She rushed on. “And I couldn’t accept that because the prediction meant that you were a candidate for being ‘it.’ I thought you wouldn’t be relationship material and that I’d get hurt all over again.”
“‘The one,’” he said, smiling now.
Her heart skittered, her breathing shallow. But why was this so scary?
Or was it…?
“I guess what all this is leading up to,” Wes said, “is that I wasn’t the type of guy who was suited for the position of ‘the one’ and you’re fighting the prediction-hence, the curse.”
They were at the bottom of the stairs now, on their cabin’s floor. She turned to him, recognizing the fear in his own eyes. He was afraid she’d reject him, wasn’t he? Or, even worse, he didn’t like that she’d thought so little of him.
Moved, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him softly, just as she impulsively had that day in Ensenada as rain had pattered above them on the overhang. That afternoon, it’d felt natural to express affection for him. It’d felt right-until she’d started thinking about it again.
So stop thinking, she told herself.
Warm, good…Her mouth lingered against his, her breasts skimming his chest, beading the tips of them with tight yearning.
She pulled away slightly, keeping hold of his shirt. Finally, cathartically, she told him about the world’s longest engagement with William and how it’d chipped away at her, year after year; how it’d made her doubt that she had it in her to ever try again, especially if failure meant another spirit-crushing breakup.
“I never want to be that hopeless woman again.” She let go of his shirt but kept her hand on his chest. “So when you asked me out, I was looking forward to the freedom of being with a guy who didn’t expect anything from me but all the easy stuff: the sex and laughter. And, most importantly, I didn’t have to expect anything from you, only to be disappointed when I didn’t get it.”
Jinxed! Page 21
