I devour every angle and curve of his face. I bask in the ecstasy seeping through my veins and the pull between us and even the apprehension tugging at the threads of my heart—I bask in it all. Because I’m here and I’m ready to take a chance… on Graeme.

I lose the flow of the lyrics and my mouth stops moving. His lips still as well and his eyes blaze. I slide my hands up to his shoulders. I’m swaying in his arms. We’re close, his lips inches from mine, but it’s still too far… I rise up on my toes…

The music changes abruptly. Bass notes strum a different disco beat.

Walsh leaps to the center of the platform. “Dance party interlude!”

Several guests cheer as they stand, already dancing their way toward the center of the room. I blink rapidly, realizing that, no, the lounge lights haven’t dimmed, and we’ve been dancing together on brightly lit display for a third of the ship this entire time. Nikolai frowns with crossed arms, but Walsh shimmies over to him and pulls him up and into the dancing crowd. From behind his back, she mouths “Go.”

I look up at Graeme. Nibbling my lower lip, I tilt my head toward the door. “Want to get out of here?” I murmur.

His eyes flash like sparks as his fingers tighten around mine. An audible sigh laced with a growl radiates from his chest. “Hell yes.”

23

We’re not three steps from the lounge when Graeme pushes me against the wall, crushing his lips against mine. The song Walsh chose to cover our getaway filters into the hall: “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough.” My lips curl into a smile against Graeme’s.

“I win,” he breathes.

“Technically,” I murmur between kisses. “You kissed me. So I win.”

“It’s a tie.”

“Deal.”

His fingers tangle in my hair and I moan as his tongue dips into my mouth. We’re all teeth and lips, hunger and heat. It takes me several breaths to realize a metal handrail is digging into my lower back.

Pushing at his chest, I disconnect. We’re alone here in the hallway at the top of the stairs, but that could change at any second. The last thing I want is Gustavo catching us making out like a couple of horny teenagers. He’s still James’s eyes and ears, and I can’t afford to forget that.

“Cabin?” My words come out in a raspy pant.

Swallowing thickly, he nods.

We fly down the stairs, and I can’t repress the giggle of pure joy that bubbles up in my throat. He doesn’t ask the question—your cabin or mine?—because the answer is obvious.

Mine is closer.