Kiss Me Maybe (Princess Cruises Presents: Kindle Love Stories) (4 page)

A seawitch is a wild creature. She holds the stars in her hands and hides the winds in her garment.

“I thought this would feel like work, but it doesn’t,” Megan said.

Alexander had joined her inside the thermal suite before their hot-stone massages. They were dressed in their swim attire and thick spa robes that wrapped around the body like a cloud straight from heaven. She was lounging on one of the hot-tile tables in the cool room. He’d spent every waking hour with Megan. Though it had been great, it had made him greedy. He wanted more. More days like this one, more moments, more . . . of her. “You thought this would feel like work? The Lotus Spa? The massage?”

She opened one eye to peer at him. “Well, this
is
my industry. It’s difficult to go into a spa and not compare it to the one you work in. Easier here. This whole place is in a league all its own. By the way, you never told me about your work.”

He stretched out on the hot stone, the temperature a perfect caress to his cool muscles. “It’s my industry, too.”

She threw her legs off the table and sat up to look at him. “Really?”

“I promise, Megan.” He half smiled and peered at her. “Alexander Andrews never lies.”

She reached over and shook him. “Beauty business. Arkansas. What business do you have? Hey, Romeo. I’m talking to you.”

He sighed, but the grin gave him away.

“Are you Andrews Lotion? No. I mean, seriously?”

He chuckled. “Have you tried the eucalyptus steam room yet? It’s great for the circulation.”

“Alexander Andrews! Are you Andrews Lotion? Tell me right now or I’ll . . . I’ll scream.”

He sat straight up. “That’ll be fun. Go for it.” They faced each other, her hands planted on her hips, so he mimicked her posture.

She cocked her head, brows rising.

“Yes,” he said on a long breath, as if bored with having to explain. “I’m Andrews Lotion. Myself, my mother and father, who still help out at the main office, and my two sisters.”

“Lord in heaven. You’re famous.” She fanned herself, as if she might faint. “And your grandparents, right? I mean, they’re the real superstars.”

“Yes. They’re retired, still live on the farm where my grandmother first created the formula. Our whole family is involved except my older brother.”

“Rebel of the family?”

“Nah. Hero. He’s in the army. We’re all really proud of him.”

She shook his shoulder. “You’re a celebrity. At least for people in the beauty industry.”

“And you, Princess, are ruining the moment. You’re supposed to be enjoying the steam rooms and saunas before your massage.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly relax now that I have so many questions. Is it true that your grandfather was a woodworker and his hands would get cracked and bleed and that’s why your grandmother invented the lotion?”

He yawned. “It’s true.”

“Alexander. Are you bored with this story? Don’t you see how incredibly beautiful and romantic it is?”

Well, he used to see it. It really was an amazing story, his grandmother mixing essential oils and plant extracts with half the ingredients in the refrigerator until she found the perfect combination. When had he lost the passion for that tale? Somewhere along the road of deadlines and bottom lines and numbers that had to add up. He thought about his grandparents, thought about when he used to love that story. He reached over and took Megan’s hand for just a moment. “You’re right. It’s a beautiful story. Thanks for reminding me.”

“And romantic.”

“And romantic,” he agreed.

She stretched out on the table. “Are they still in love?” she practically whispered the words, her eyes closed and her voice soft.

“Yes, Megan. They are.”

A long, slow sigh escaped her lips and he knew the very instant all her exuberance left her and she’d gone somewhere else in her mind. She’d taken a deep dive into a fairy-tale world where women created lotion to help their men and where people fell in love instantly on cruise ships or by falling off horses. It was a place Alexander didn’t mind visiting himself. Between the cool of the room and the warm stones against his back, it wasn’t long before Alexander was drifting off to sleep. A touch on his shoulder woke him.

“Mr. Andrews, it’s time for your massage.”

He glanced over to Megan to find another spa employee gently shaking her awake. It was then that he noticed something beside him. He tilted up and glanced down. There, his fingers were entwined with Megan’s.

With her free hand, Megan brushed the sleep from her eyes. Her other hand was warm, fingertips practically vibrating, and the sensation sent heat to the depths of her stomach. Alexander lifted his hand to reveal hers locked with it. In that moment, with a rainforest shower in one corner of the room and doorways leading into areas of extreme relaxation, Megan’s heart came alive and drifted away from her as if pulled by an unstoppable current.

She was led to a room where a massage therapist had her undress and lie on the comfortable massage table. Warmed stones were worked over her, creating the perfect balance of heat and muscle-tension relief. By the time they were through, she was a blubbering ball of goo. How on earth could she put on her game face and find her Richard? She could barely think straight. And the strangest part of all, it was as if earlier, she had been meant to wake up with her fingers threaded with Alexander’s.

Three hours later and with one sneak-in complete, Megan looked over the attendees of the family reunion—her prospects—as they lounged in Crooners. It’s not that she was a shallow person by nature, but good heavens, these short, wide Richardson women spawned short, wide Richardson sons.

“I see you made it, Princess.” Alexander towered over the entire room. She towered over half of it.

If Megan kept frowning, her face would set that way. That’s how old maids and cat ladies started out, Grandma Trini had assured her. “I slipped past the blue-haired lady at the door by following some of the waitstaff when they arrived with the ice sculpture. It’s beautiful, by the way.” She flicked a quick glance to Alexander. No more than that. Because she would invariably begin comparing the wide-girthed, balding Richardsons in the room to him. And that was as shallow as it was unfair. Alexander was one of those men who caught your eye in the airport or on a plane somewhere. The kind of man who graced the covers of magazines about manliness and testosterone. The kind of man . . .

“Hey there.”

Megan turned to find a glassy-eyed, fishbowl-shaped man behind her. He was three inches shorter, but with her heels off, they might see eye to eye. “Hello,” she said, her heart thumping.

“Don’t think we’ve met.” His gaze trailed down over her and though Megan didn’t usually mind a gentleman’s glance, it made her feel exposed. Of course, she had crashed his party.

Alexander thrust a hand out. “I’m Alexander. This is my friend Megan. Are you married?”

Megan sucked a breath and nearly choked.

The man gave him a fleeting—and if she wasn’t wrong—disgusted look. “No, pal. But you’re not my type.”

Megan disliked him instantly. Even if his name was Richardson. There was a dismissiveness to his manner that suggested he’d rather put others down than build anyone up—something Megan couldn’t abide. A server came by and he barked something at her. He rocked back on his heels. “I put this little party together, and when Cal Richardson does something, Cal Richardson does it right. You have to let people know who’s in charge.”

Megan wanted to vomit. Alexander seemed amused by the whole thing.

Cal swigged his wine then pointed the empty glass at Alexander. “You the guy my great aunt invited? Said you were some lotion mogul or something.”

Alexander nodded. “She’s a fine lady.”

Cal rolled his eyes. “She’s a kooky old bat. Needs to go to an old folks’ home, but refuses to leave the house my great uncle built for her. He told her he’d build a bedroom on the first floor before he kicked the bucket, but that didn’t happen. She can’t last there more than another year or two; that arthritis in her knees will teach her. She won’t be able to climb the stairs.” Cal seemed so dismissive about his great aunt’s plight, Megan hoped he’d have a coronary right there.

She turned away from him and focused her attention on the woman at the front door. One of the waitstaff helped her get situated on a stool he’d brought from the bar. Standing and greeting the guests must have tired her out. Sadness spread through Megan’s system and her eyes slowly came up to find Alexander. She whispered, “I’d like to leave here, now.”

Alexander’s eyes were on the blue-haired lady as well, and Megan wondered if he saw what she saw. A woman whose world was being stripped away by age and arthritis. A woman who loved where she lived and was willing to fight to stay there. A woman who wouldn’t give up.

Her hand warmed and instantly Megan felt stronger. She glanced down; her fingers were twined with Alexander’s. How did that keep happening? And every time it did, why did she want to capture it? Keep it; hold it like a ship in a bottle?

As they slipped out the front door, Alexander stopped and whispered something in the older lady’s ear. The words caused her to first open her mouth in an O shape, then slide off her stool and take Alexander’s face in her wrinkled hands. She placed a kiss on each of his cheeks, studied his eyes for a long moment, and whispered “thank you.”

Megan’s eyes were glistening when they left Crooners and walked, hand in hand, through the Piazza. But she kept one eye on him. She needed to. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d throw out Grandma Trini’s advice and dive headfirst into Ocean Alexander.

What would that be like, she wondered as they strolled the hall until a door led them outside on the deck, where Movies Under the Stars
^®
was just beginning. She smelled popcorn in the air and watched as couples and families settled into the cushioned lounge chairs for the feature film. Blankets were given to combat the night breeze, but to Megan, the air was perfect. Cool, refreshing, and cleansing. She paused at the upper level and overlooked the people below who surrounded the swimming pool and gazed up at the massive movie screen.

“You’re quiet, Megan.”

She faced Alexander fully. “I can’t do this.” The words were mumbled, but held the force of bullets.

He moved closer, blocking the wind that lifted her hair.

He said nothing, so she filled the silence. “Alexander, I can’t spend time with you and expect to find Richard. It . . . it won’t . . .” They’d already spent time together equivalent to several dates in the normal world. Already, she’d thought of him as she’d fallen asleep and rose to thoughts of him in the morning. Grandma Trini would flip if she knew. Megan realized something was distracting her. She glanced down to find his fingertips trickling over her arms, moving slowly, first up, then down. And she’d had something she’d needed to say, something important. And if he’d stop . . . just stop . . .

And then he did. Alexander stopped moving and breathing. She felt it as completely as if he’d been using her own lungs for air. The stars flickered above them, the lights of the ship twinkled below them. Wind against his back pushed him closer to her. And his eyes studied every motion, every movement of her gaze as it tried desperately to make sense of what was going on. He was a rock, immovable, unstoppable, hard marble, a place you could lean, a place you could rest. He was a mountain and she was a river, moving, sometimes raging, sometimes lazy. They were the perfect match, she and he. One stone solid, one lucid. A perfect complement, a perfect marriage.

The very thought made her step back. She needed equilibrium, needed to remember the goal, the purpose. Grandma Trini had paid good money for Megan to come on this ship, money she’d dug out of her backyard in seven mason jars. Seven. The number of completion. No matter what, Megan couldn’t let Grandma Trini down. “What did you say to the woman at the family reunion, Great-Aunt Richardson?”

He shrugged it off. “It doesn’t matter.”

He was a multifaceted man, Megan realized, and quickly on the heels of that realization came another. She’d like to spend a lifetime uncovering those nuances that made him who he was. “I insist you tell me.”

His eyes sparkled with the perfect combination of magic and mystery. “You insist?”

“I absolutely do.”

A dimple appeared on one side of his face. “I told her that I’d make sure she didn’t have to leave her house until she was good and ready.”

Megan bit back the sensation rising within her heart. It was a dangerous one, one that could wreck her perfect plan. “Did you really?”

“It’s not that big of a deal. So, she needs a bedroom on the first floor. Done. Small price to pay for someone’s independence and dignity. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She nodded.

“Besides, I wouldn’t want my grandmother to have to face that.”

“But you don’t even know that woman.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe it’s my first step toward capturing the wind.”

Megan couldn’t explain why her eyes were suddenly filled with tears, why her hands found their way to Alexander’s chest and rested there against his beating heart. He was warm and wonderful, both inside and out, and in today’s world that was rare. “You never finished telling me about Aquanna.”

With the slowness of mountain molasses, Alexander’s hands slid down Megan’s arms, slipped gently to her back, and created a perfect cradle to hold her. His thighs pressed against hers, heat rising from his powerful limbs and blazing through the silk of her dress.

His hands were two fireballs against her lower back, radiating heat from her spine to her stomach. “It’s said that when she first saw
Emerald Princess
rising above the white foam and glistening tide in the clear waters of the Caribbean, Aquanna was so moved by the beauty of the ship, she made a vow. When two people who are purest of heart take their first step onto the gangway, Aquanna would set in motion their destiny. To fall in love.”