ROMANCE: CLEAN ROMANCE: Summer Splash! (Sweet Inspirational Contemporary Romance) (New Adult Clean Fantasy Short Stories) (6 page)

              Only to find that her adventure wound her around the grand staircase to the fairly non-exciting main lobby. She didn’t localize the sound of the music, however, until she rounded the edge of the staircase to find what had to be the ship’s most unassuming lounge.  Off to the left, a photographer had set up a tropical backdrop for the photos most of the passengers seemed unbelievably willing to purchase, and he was surrounded by a plethora of white leather couches that were scattered amongst large potted plants.  It was from behind one of these plants that a man was playing a creamy baby Grand.

              Settling down into one of the white couches and sipping her drink to have something to do with her hands, Mackie watched the man play.  Was he Spanish or Greek, she wondered, trying to discreetly catch a better look at his face.  He was in his late twenties or early thirties, muscled through the shoulders, which she found unusual for a musician, and playing the steady ease of someone for who such a song is child’s play.  He did not even glance at the keys, but would look beyond the edge of the piano from time to time, a clearly fashioned smile touching his face gently as he connected eyes with one of the crew.  Mackie liked that he was a people watcher, and quite suddenly, she knew that she wanted him to notice her, as well.

              Downing the rest of the drink, she moved to a couch that was directly to the man’s right.  It took all her courage, but she willed herself to sit there and not order another drink as pretense that that was her aim.  Her aim was to get to know the man with the soft brown hair standing up from his head as if shocked by electricity, so why pretend otherwise?  She was a grown woman, for fuck’s sake.

              She was a grown woman, Mackie realized slowly, and when the musician’s eye finally caught hers, she uncrossed and crossed her long, dark legs sensuously, and stroked one finger against the pebbly surface of her evening bag.  When she looked back at him, there was a real smile on his face, one that did not come and go this time.

              The song ended, and it was followed by another, something from Cage the Elephants, a song with a far harder edge, and the sudden change from classic to rock thrilled her.  She associated personality with music, and the loping, rapid beat of the song played on her skin just as surely as the pianist’s smile had.   A few minutes later, the song came to a close, and so, apparently, did his work evening.  From beneath the piano bench, he pulled a folder full of sheet music and put away the songs he had played that night.  He was just sliding the folder into a black messenger bag when Mackie gathered up the boldness to approach him.

              “I found myself wondering,” she said to him, leaning on one elbow against the creamy Grand, “what manner of man plays Sinatra and a song that normalizes prostitution in the same breath?”  Good Lord, alcohol was liquid courage, indeed.

              “And I found myself wondering what manner of woman manages to find the self-assurance to watch a man she doesn’t know so openly,” he answered her, eyes twinkling with humor.  His face was not what she expected.  It was craggy, as if hewn from rock, with a prominent Roman nose, dipping just a touch in the center.  His mouth looked like it was carved from deeply hued quartz, a man’s mouth, a mouth that looked like it enjoyed whiskey and kissing breasts. 

              “The kind of woman who likes her classical with a hint of badassery,” Mackie replied, enjoying the contours of his face a great deal.

              He chuckled, and the sound was deep and engaging; it made her want to take another step closer to him, so she did.

              “And what does such a woman do for a living?  A photographer, a collector of images?”

              “A ballerina.”

              His eyebrows spiked.  “A ballerina, really?”  His warm brown eyes traveled down the length of her body, dancing along the midnight blue velvet, warming her skin.  She noted that his accent was different, belonging distinctly to neither country she had guess he was from earlier.  She strained to get a look at his nametag, because all King Royal employees had their country of origin printed below their name. 

             
Mici
(it read)

              And below,

             
Romania
.

              “Have you always wanted to be a pianist, Mici from Romania?” she asked.

              “No.  I hated piano when I was little, but my parents, God bless them, made me practice anyway.  You can imagine that now—“here he gestured around him at the middy lights of the lounge, “I am quite glad they did.  I came here with a degree from the conservatory, and now I get to see the warmest places in the world.”

              “Cold in Romania?” Though the remark may have been the hallmark of small talk everywhere, the way they were looking at each other was the hallmark of unmistakable attraction.  He was a largely built man, square in body and heavily muscled in the upper body.  He had the looks best associated with the roguish characters in smutty historical romance novels, the kind of brute power about him that made women swoon and try desperately to reform him. 

              “Yes,” he answered, eyes snagging on her mouth.  “But I find it’s always much warmer whenever there’s a beautiful woman around.”

              Mackie blushed.  She actually blushed.  Damn the man.  Her naughty working vacation had just been kicked up a notch.

              “Why Mici,” she answered, running a hand along the smooth top of the baby Grand, “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”  Was this truly coming out of her mouth?  Where had she worked up the
gumbos
?

              Mici, however, did not think there was anything that was strange about her words at all.  In fact, the smile lurking about the corners of his mouth deepened, and he looked her directly in the eyes. “No,” he told her, the syllable licking her from tip to toe, “Just the ones who appreciate the classical mixed with the badass.”

              She had to chuckle at that one, but Mici wasn’t done.  “When can I see you again, ballerina girl?”

              Mackie did not know what compelled her to suggest the first place her sick, twisted little mind conjured, but apparently, all the filters were off tonight.

              “Tomorrow night at nine,” she told him, scooping up her purse and turning around to leave.  “The Jacuzzi.  We’ll go for a midnight swim.”

              Mici’s eyes widened just a touch, just enough to be barely perceptible.  “You’ve got it, ballerina,” he said to her retreating back as she waltzed out of the lounge.

*              *              *

              “You’ve been dancing since you were
six
?  That’s insane.  I didn’t even get into juggling before I was ten, and that’s only because I was the laziest lay about you ever met in your entire life.”

              After dinner, Adam had suggested a stroll around the Lido Deck.  She had just finished telling him about the strict discipline of ballet.

              “All those rules and you didn’t go insane?”

              “If you asked anyone at the American Ballet Company, they’d tell you I’m pretty insane for taking this cruise job.”

              “Why’s that?”

              “Let’s say I’ll be walking into the company with a…
reputation
.”

              “Oh, I see.”  Adam was thoughtful for a moment.  The wild wind picked up his sandy hair and mussed it, whipping it against the sides of his face, rumpling it in a most appealing manner.  Tomorrow, they would be in the Caribbean, and the winds would be tamer, sultrier. Mackie shivered slightly, and whether it was because of the wind or the promise of tomorrow, she could not tell.  Having noticed this, Adam took a step until he was directly at her side, and wrapped an arm around her bare shoulders.  One of his fingers brushed against the delicate strapping of her dress, and Mackie smiled.

              “What would they say at the company,” Adam said slowly, pressing her to his side, feeling the length of her body against his, turning her just a little so that he could nuzzle the sensitive area between her collarbone and chin, “If they saw you with me right now?”

              Mackie shuddered a tiny bit at the feeling of his lips and face against the contours of her neck.  “Ohhh, I’d be a bad girl.  So very bad.”

              “Well, you know what they say.”  Adam turned her slowly so that they were facing one another.

              Mackie tilted her chin up to him, feeling the flat of his abdomen against her palms where she was touching him.  “What’s that?”

              “Go hard or go home.”  And then he kissed her.

              They pressed their bodies against each other, relishing the sensations rushing through them.  She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, pressing her chest onto his until she tasted his groan against her lips.  He was long and beautifully sculpted, just like she had imagined, and when he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his palms into the small of her back, she felt herself being transformed.  She was no longer Mackie, with her curvier friends jealously counting their calories and commenting on the thinness of her body.  She was Mackenzie, nipples alive against this gorgeous man’s chest, athletic, strong, and downright sexy.  She kissed his lips, ran her tongue, long and smooth against his, and traced his fantastic jaw with her mouth.  She nudged one leg in between his and was just feeling the stiffness of his erection behind his pants when—

              “No.”  Adam’s voice was hoarse as he untangled her arms from his neck.

              “What?  Why not?” she asked, feeling rejection shoot through her like an arrow.

              “Well, for one thing, we’re standing in the middle of a cruise ship,” he laughed, trying to draw her closer.  “For another, we’ve got the rest of this cruise to enjoy this.  Why give away all our secrets in one night?”

              And although she let Adam Santino, the best juggler in the world, and a terrific kisser, draw her close to him, Mackenzie found herself wishing that they had taken the plunge through the metaphorical rabbit hole and landed on the other side.

*              *              *

              Hot water bubbled gently against the dark line of her toned abdomen.  Mackie stretched her legs out in front of her, watching them float up, the triangle of her thighs shrouded beneath a strip of green fabric.  The Jacuzzi swirled frothy waves towards the puckered outlines of her breasts, and the sun was burning a dark orange against the horizon.

              The top deck of the cruise ship had emptied out two hours ago.  There was nobody around except Mackie, and she was awaiting Mici with ever-increasing impatience.

              At last, his broad form appeared by the Jacuzzi’s edge.  He slipped the white button down he was wearing over his head, revealing a chest smattered with the dark speckle of hair.  Mackie drew in a breath.  He was solidly built everywhere, and there was something about his body that brought her back to the movie
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
, where Jane Russell has her pick of all the 60s athletic male hunks of the time.  A throwback to another era, and with a rebellious scar on the left side of his stomach.

              They relaxed together for a few minutes in the tub, letting the evening-cooled breeze play along whatever skin was exposed from the water, the contrast in temperatures delicious.  Mici swam-walked over to her until their shoulders were just touching.

              “Where did you get this scar?” Mackie asked, reaching in the water to run her hand along it.

              Mici followed her fingers with his eyes briefly, and then said, “I fell off my motorcycle when I was seventeen.”

              Mackie winced.  “Ouch.”

              He shook his head ruefully.  “My father, he was always such a careful man.  Scared of his own shadow.  He was always telling me, ‘Mici, don’t do this, don’t do that.’  And I always laughed.  And then one day—BAM.  I’m on the side of the railroad tracks, a spoke through my belly.”

              “Holy cow.”  Her palm stilled against the scar.

              “Yes.  But I was, then, and still now, my own man.  I couldn’t be any other way if I even dared to dream it.”

              Mackie watched his face, the profile sharp and jarring against the orange burst of the dying sun.  He looked like he was on an island of his own, somewhere out where Minotaurs still managed to roam the Earth.  Abruptly, he turned to look at her, and she melted into his eyes, burning dark against whatever light was left.

              “What else do men do?” she asked, scarcely knowing what she was saying.

              He didn’t answer her.  Instead, he fiercely ground his mouth against hers, and then softened.  He gathered her up in his arms, weightless in the water, and she was on his groin, suddenly, wrapped in warm flesh and submitting her tongue and mouth to his onslaught, fever zipping through her like wildfire.

              “Mackie?”

              A familiar voice cut through her daze.  When she broke away from Mici, she found Adam standing by the side of the hot tub.  For a moment, she was horrified, but a glance at Adam’s face told her that he was not upset.