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  When she couldn’t put it off any longer, she asked one of the attendants to point her toward the aft bar, the Fog Bank, which turned out to be through a set of swinging doors directly behind her. She went through the doors and found much the same setup as the cafe: The bar itself was under a roof, but most of the tables were in the open air. A band was playing dance music, but not so loud that people had to shout to carry on a conversation, which was a nice change from the usual. The dance floor was crowded with both singly gyrating bodies and couples who were actually dancing together.

  From the literature she’d read about the ship she knew there were several bars, but this one was humming with activity. Perhaps people were excited by the first night at sea, and no one wanted to be inside, which made the Lido deck the place to be. Stars were shining overhead, the ink-black ocean waves were gleaming with silver caps, and a brisk breeze tugged at hair and clothing. Even as tense as she was, Jenner felt something magical at being on the glowing ship surrounded by the vast, empty ocean. There were no other lights in sight in any direction, emphasizing how alone they were.

  A single stool at the bar came empty, and Jenner squeezed onto it. There were so many people around she wondered how she was supposed to spot one particular couple, especially since she didn’t know what they looked like. Well, that was their problem; they knew who she was, so it was up to them to get close enough to attract her attention. And maybe she’d make it even more difficult by keeping her back turned to the crowd.

  The bartender smiled at her. “What can I get you?”

  “A teeter-totter,” she replied.

  “Have you tried a Ghostwater yet? It’s the ship’s signature drink.” He indicated the drink another of the trio of bartenders was handing across to a passenger; the liquid was a pale gray concoction, and wisps of what looked like fog rose from the tall, skinny glass.

  “I’d pass on the Ghostwater, if I were you,” a man advised from her left as he angled one broad shoulder in to the bar. “They pack a big punch. But I’ll have one.”

  Jenner automatically looked up, because the man was seriously encroaching on her personal space, and found herself just a few inches from a pair of very blue, very intent eyes. For a split second time froze, her heartbeat thumped hard against her rib cage, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Hastily she looked down, breaking eye contact. He was so close she could feel his body heat, so close his hard chest was actually touching her shoulder; a belated alarm skittered along her nerve endings. She didn’t like strangers touching her, didn’t like the way she was being crowded, especially by a man as tall and powerfully built as this one. She tried to shift away, but the crowd around the bar was so dense she couldn’t move without putting some muscle into shoving people.

  “One teeter-totter and one Ghostwater, coming up,” said the bartender, turning away to mix the drinks.

  She stared straight ahead, unwilling to make eye contact again. Was he hitting on her, or was he just trying to get a drink at a crowded bar? Either way, she couldn’t afford the distraction. Her field of vision was blocked on both sides now, so she couldn’t see what was going on around her, and so many people were talking she wasn’t certain she’d be able to tell if anyone was arguing. As soon as she got her drink she needed to move, find a more isolated corner.

  “Are you here by yourself?” the man asked, and because they were so squashed together his voice was practically in her ear, his warm, pleasant breath brushing her cheek.

  “No,” she said, because she wasn’t. At least four people were here with her, watching her, even though she was sitting alone. She still didn’t look up at him again.

  “Pity,” he said. “Neither am I.”

  His voice had taken on a deep, warmly intimate undertone that, against her will, brought her gaze back up to his. The bottom dropped out of her stomach again. She had seen men who were better-looking, but damn if she’d ever seen one who oozed more masculinity than him. What was bewildering was that there was no one facet of his appearance that set him apart. He was tall, but not unusually so; muscled, but not muscle-bound; short dark hair, blue eyes, a hint of five o’clock shadow on a strong jaw. He was simply dressed, in black slacks and a white silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, and yet he seemed more elegant than any of the other men, who were no slouches in the dress department themselves. Taken as a whole, he was quite a package, and that had more to do with the aura that surrounded him than it did with any individual feature.

  The bartender set their drinks in front of them. Relieved by the interruption, Jenner reached for her ship’s card but the man beat her to it, handing over his card to the bartender and saying, “Both drinks.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Now she had to look up at him again, though she really, really didn’t want to. She aimed her gaze at his nose, because those blue eyes were too unsettling. “Thank you.” She kept her tone as neutral as possible.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, reaching past her to accept his card back from the bartender. Just then the ship rolled slightly to the left, the first real movement she’d felt, but even as slight as it was that was still too much for a few people who had already had too much to drink. There was a commotion to the right, a yelp, then the man beside her was suddenly moving, both arms coming around her to brace against the bar as he shielded her with his body. He made a soft “oof” as someone landed against him, and for a moment he was crushed against her, his chest to her back, her head against his shoulder.

  “Sorry,” someone said, just as the man also said “Sorry,” and straightened away from her.

  “Damn you.” It was a woman’s voice, dripping with inebriated scorn and fury. “I saw that! You can’t even get a drink without putting your hands on another woman.”

  Uncomfortably Jenner looked around. A curvy brunette with exotic sloe eyes was standing just behind them. She was overdressed in a skintight red cocktail dress that ended just a few inches below her ass, and she teetered precariously on five-inch heels, though whether that was because of the ship’s movement or the amount of alcohol in her blood was anyone’s guess. She was glaring at them, her chandelier earrings glittering as she tossed her head.

  Jenner felt him sigh, felt the rise and fall of his chest. “You’re drunk and you’re making a scene,” he said quietly. “Let’s go back to the table.”

  The man who had initially stumbled looked around, blinking as he tried to make sense of the situation. He was sober enough to say, “No, that was my fault—”

  “I know what I saw!” she said shrilly, dismissing him as she advanced closer to the man who had just saved Jenner from being knocked off her stool. “I don’t know why you asked me along—”

  “Neither do I.” His tone was hard and grim. “But I regret it more every minute.”

  “That’s easy to fix! Get your clothes and get out, you bastard.” Her voice rose to a shriek of outrage, and tears began to melt her mascara into black rivulets running down her cheeks. More and more people were falling silent, turning to watch the scene, and Jenner began to feel as if she were caught in the middle of a train wreck with no way of escaping. She looked desperately around, hoping she could slip away.

  He tilted his head, his expression turning hard. “I don’t believe you can kick me out of my own stateroom, Tiffany, but I’ll tell you what: I’ll let you have the room, because I’d rather sleep in the laundry than spend another minute with you.”

  Tiffany!

  Oh my God. Horrified awareness swept over Jenner like ice water. This was Cael.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE SCENE GOT UGLIER AND UGLIER. TIFFANY’S FACE turned an unbecoming red as she began shrieking and sputtering incoherent insults. Cael didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. He let his expression say it all for him; he might as well have been looking at an insect. Beside him, Jenner Redwine was frozen on the barstool, her expression both stunned and horrified.

  Before he’d called Tiffany by name, she�