Britt fidgeted with his bow tie and straightened his tux. “We’ll look into him. Shall we be after it, then? We’re due to dinner in just a few minutes.” He closed the laptop and stood.
“Oh yes. We’d better run and get ready, too. We’ve got that…thing.” Carmyn licked her lips. She and Mark had a cabana reserved for the evening. No telling what they’d get up to. Victoria didn’t need the particulars, but some person or couple would no doubt be very satisfied by the end of the night.
“Have fun.” She meant it. Carmyn and Mark deserved to enjoy this cruise as much as anybody else, and not just because they’d helped so much with referrals. They were a truly happy couple, and good people. Their exploits seemed to only heighten their love.
So maybe Britt was right, and what they were about to do wouldn’t mar their relationship. She sure hoped so.
They followed Mark and Carmyn out the door, with David following behind. Poor guy. She wished they could have talked more. It must’ve taken some guts to show up at their door after he’d gotten upset enough to leave earlier. Well, she’d be sure to make it up to him later.
* * * *
Victoria leaned into Britt. Much as she loved seeing him all dressed up, she’d rather not be on the dance floor in the Grand Ballroom. She had other places to be. Britt was an excellent dancer, though.
“Looks like you still remember the steps,” he murmured in her ear.
He’d taught her all the ballroom dance steps–nude, in their apartment on the Mountain. Of course, they’d had lots of breaks and done some horizontal mambos during those lessons. And now he slipped his hand down the open back of her sequined dress, past where the dress barely concealed her butt cleavage. She was certain others could see, and she should probably stop him.
“I love you, you big old pervert. But don’t you think we should cool it? Prying eyes, and all that.”
“Mm.” He nuzzled her neck. “One could say it’s a trap–if this ends up on the blog tomorrow, we’ll know our spy was here tonight, and can close in on her. Or him.” Him vibrated below her ear, giving her sexy shivers. His warm hands on her ass, though, sent spikes of heat radiating through her middle.
Between what he was doing to her now–in front of everyone–and thinking of later, her thong was hopelessly wet.
“I’ve a bit of a surprise for you, love.” He pulled back to look at her face and smiled. “I gave David the code to our room so he could go back there at will, and be there when we return.”
“When did you do that?”
“Before we boarded the lift, while you were yacking with Carmyn.”
“Oh. Can we go there now?” she joked. If only. Still, it could be worse. Dinner had gone pleasantly well: Captain Bekyros stoic as ever, but his guests, lively and fun. Now they had to make a show of associating with the first class guests for a respectable time, even if it killed her to think of David ready and waiting for them back at the room.
“Can I cut in?” the captain rumbled.
“Oh. Certainly.” Britt inclined his head, and handed her over.
It sure wasn’t the same dancing with someone else, keeping a suitable distance between their bodies. “Well, Captain Bekyros, what do you think so far? Are you feeling okay with taking the job?”
“Call me Rob. You and your husband are good bosses. Why would I complain?” He held his body so stiffly, he’d obviously danced with her purely for propriety.
“I guess there was some…speculation in Human Resources, that you might not approve of the nature of the activities aboard.”
“Never captained a ship where sex wasn’t everywhere. At least the people on this cruise are honest about it.”
“And you and your wife? Did you patch things up?”
He shook his head. “Married to the sea, or married to a woman. Can’t seem to do both.”
“So you divorced?” Maybe there was a reason he was so stoic.
He nodded. “Number two for me.”
He was an attractive enough man, in that swarthy Greek way. “I’m so sorry. If you’d like, I could arrange a diversion–”
“Mind if I cut in?” Mick, the Great Throbbing Dick, stopped them dead in their course.
Rob scowled, but let go of her and walked away without a word. Did that scowl mean he’d like for her to set him up and he was pissed at Mick, or was the scowl for her?
“How is the beautiful Mrs. Grant?” Mick asked. Where the captain had kept a stiff distance, Mick seemed intent on holding her much too close. “Or do you prefer to be addressed as Ms. West? I need to know, for my articles.”