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His command, combined with the perfect pressure of his thumb where I need it most, sends me over the edge. I cry out, not caring who might hear through the thin walls as waves of pleasure crash through me. Ethan follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buries his face against my neck with a deep groan.
For several minutes afterward, we remain connected, breathing hard, my legs still wrapped around him, his arms supporting my weight. Eventually, he lifts his head, hair mussed, a look of contentment on his face.
“So much for boundaries,” he murmurs, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.
“A temporary lapse in judgment,” I reply, though we both know it’s more than that.
“Mmm, is that what we’re calling it?” He helps me sit upright, as he passes me my discarded clothing. “Because I’d call it the best breakfast meeting, I’ve ever had.”
I laugh. “I can’t imagine any of your other breakfast meetings ending like this.”
“My accounts exec is seventy in the shade, he flirts sometimes.” He pulls his own clothes back on. “Usually right before he cuts my budget.”
“Pattern recognition. Very scientific of you.”
“He sounds fun.” He helps me down from the table, steadying me when my legs are embarrassingly wobbly. “Now, as much as I’d like to continue this research project, I have a real meeting in twenty minutes.”
“And I have an expose to finish,” I agree, though reluctance colors my voice.
“Dinner tonight?” he asks as he walks me to the door. “The chef’s table? Seven o’clock?”
I should say no.
“Yes,” I say instead. “Seven works.”
His smile is worth the inevitable consequences. “I’ll pick you up at your suite.”
“Try not to cause any more environmental crises before then,” I tease, feeling light-hearted despite the early morning emergency and my professional obligations hanging over me.
“I make no promises,” he replies with a grin. “They seem to lead to positive outcomes for us.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress my smile as I leave his suite.
Back in my cabin, I shower again (necessary after our “breakfast meeting”) and change into fresh clothes, determined to focus on work.
The waste system incident provides perfect material—a legitimate issue revealed, dealt with showing complete transparency, contained before environmental damage could happen. It’s the kind of case study that shows the challenges and the potential for improvement in the cruise industry.
I work through the morning, fueled by room service coffee and the adrenaline of both the crisis and my breakfast with Ethan. Around noon, a text from Zoe pulls me from my concentration:
Earth to Harper! Haven’t heard from you in DAYS. Did you throw the billionaire overboard or are you too busy with your fake boyfriend to text your real friend?
Guilt washes over me. I’ve been so caught up in the Ethan Cole whirlwind that I’ve neglected to update my best friend.
Sorry! It’s been intense. Assessment going well. Will call when I’m back on solid ground.
Her reply comes instantly:
Intense HOW exactly? My reporter senses are tingling.
I hesitate, then type:
There was an environmental incident this morning. Waste system rupture. Contained, no oceanic discharge.
That’s the “intense” you meant? Not, say, intense with tall, rich and aggravating? Because your social media absence suggests distraction of the horizontal variety.
I feel my cheeks warm. Zoe has always been able to read me, even through text messages.
Focus on the environmental assessment, please.