From God knows where, he pulls out his cell phone and snuggles onto the pillow next to me before lifting it high above us. “Morning selfie.”

“Ugh, no, I look terrible,” I say, diving for cover. My hair is a veritable squirrel’s nest and I’m pretty sure I have mascara smudges under my eyes.

“You’re beautiful.”

I purse my lips but can’t prevent the smile that rises from the depths of my soul. With his lips pressed against my temple, he snaps a picture. We both look at it. My breath catches at the casual intimacy displayed on the screen.

“You’re not posting that on Instagram, are you?” I ask.

“No way. This one’s all for me.”

“What made you finally join anyway?”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “You did.”

“And your handle, Graeme Cracker_Collins. Is that because of me?”

“Partly. It was my mom’s nickname for me too. But I like hearing you say it.”

I roll over until I’m on top of him. The sheet falls away, and goose bumps form along my exposed skin. “Graham Cracker,” I drawl.

His chest expands as he growls, and I brush my lips against his. I jerk back a fraction. “When are you heading back to Michigan?” Please don’t say today.

“Tomorrow.”

I exhale.

“But I’ll be back next week. I have a job interview with a local company and they’re flying me out—”

I edge off him, clutching the comforter to my chest. “No. You can’t.”

He pushes himself up to sit higher against the pillows. “Why not?”

“Because you have to take the digital director job at Seaquest.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re perfect for it! Your digital storytelling ideas are amazing and you love to travel, and this job can give you that.”

“But what about you?”

I shrug and flop back on my pillow. “Let’s just see what Marlen says about my idea. If he approves it, maybe I’ll have a chance to work out of a different department. Maybe with Renata.” Renata is the chief itinerary officer, the only woman on the executive board, and my personal hero. She worked her way up in the company after starting as a deckhand on one of the ships in the nineties. Talk about a self-made success story.

“In that case we should get our day started. Because you need to polish your pitch for Marlen.” Even as he says it, a wicked gleam lights his eye.

“We should get up. We definitely should.” But right now, no part of me wants to. Releasing the blanket, I crawl on top of him. His body is warm and all too inviting. “How about in fifteen minutes?”

“Thirty, at least. I need to taste every inch of that delectable skin,” he rumbles.

My stomach does backflips at the pure, molten lust in his gaze. “Forty-five,” I counter.