Page 48 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Brian

The Amalthea

I grabbed Enzo's arm, my fingers digging into the solid muscle beneath his rumpled shirt as I hauled him toward the suite door.

"Out. Now."

"What the hell, Brian?"

He stumbled, still half-asleep, his dark curls sticking up at odd angles.

"What's your rush?"

"I’m in a hurry because Gemma needs a moment to gather herself. And we’re not about to watch a woman shower who didn't consent to an audience."

I yanked the door open, the cool corridor air hitting us like a slap.

"She needs privacy right now."

The hallway stretched in both directions, all soft, luxurious carpets. and brass fixtures that gleamed under the soft lighting. The ship's movement was more noticeable here, a subtle rolling motion that made the crystal sconces sway gently. The hall felt claustrophobic, and I started to walk, assuming Enzo would follow.

“It’s odd, isn’t it? She doesn’t seem that upset. About Jake, I mean. She’s more angry that we’ve pulled her away from work.”

Enzo said after a moment.

“Maybe she holds it all inside.”

“Or maybe she never liked Jake all that much in the first place.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow as he leaned against a brass railing, looking out over the elegant dining room below. Even disheveled and wrinkled, he looked like he belonged on the cover of some adventure travel magazine, all easy confidence and careless charm.

“Why would she marry him, then?”

"Relax, accountant,"

he said, stretching his arms above his head in a way that made his shirt ride up, exposing a strip of tanned skin above his waistband.

"You’re too stressed out."

"Don't call me that. That’s my job, not my identity. And I’ll stress out if I want to stress out. We kidnapped a woman and dragged her onto a cruise ship while she was blackout drunk."

"Kidnapped is a strong word—"

"Is it?"

I ran my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands until they hurt.

"Because last I checked, taking someone somewhere against their will while they're incapacitated has a pretty specific legal definition."

Enzo rolled his eyes, pushing off from the railing to face me fully.

"Against their will? She bought the tickets!"

"Then gave them to us! She was heartbroken. Whatever she said when she was drunk, she doesn’t want to be here, I can see it written all over her face."

“Imogen approved of this plan.”

His voice softened, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the man beneath the carefree facade.

"Look, she may not be showing it on the outside, but something is going on with her. That weird, scary calm thing she was doing? That's not normal, Brian. People don't just shrug off getting abandoned at the altar."

I wanted to argue, but he wasn't wrong. Gemma's reaction had been unsettling. She’d been too controlled, too rational for someone whose personal life had imploded.

"So you and Imogen decided to make it worse by trapping her on a boat?"

"We decided to make sure she gets to enjoy the cruise she paid for."

Enzo stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne. It was something warm and woodsy that made me think of summer nights and bad decisions.

"Come on, man. When's the last time you or Gemma did something spontaneous? Something that wasn't planned six months in advance and color-coded in your fucking calendar? I think you both need this."

"This whole cruise was a terrible idea,"

I muttered, but even as I said it, I could feel my resolve wavering. There was something intoxicating about being here, about the risks I’d taken to make this happen. Absurd, irrational risks that were so far outside my comfort zone that they were difficult to explain.

"Was it, though?"

Enzo was a charismatic man, with the confidence of a man who could charm his way into any party, and his relaxed smile told me he knew I was wavering.

"When's the last time you were somewhere this beautiful? When's the last time you had three weeks with absolutely nothing you had to do but enjoy yourself?"

I tried to step back, to put some space between us, but the wall was right behind me.

"I don't enjoy myself. I work. I solve problems. I clean up other people's messes."

"Exactly my point."

His voice dropped lower.

"You need to learn how to live a little, Brian. Maybe Gemma does, too."

The way he said my name sent heat pooling low in my stomach, a reaction I absolutely couldn't afford to have. Not here, not with him, not when my brain was already scrambled from three hours of sleep and the lingering images of Gemma in that wedding dress.

"What are you suggesting?"

I asked, hating how rough my voice sounded.

"I'm suggesting we make the best of this situation."

He gestured toward the elegant corridor, toward the luxury that surrounded us.

"This ship has everything — restaurants, bars, a casino, even a nightclub. We could explore, have some fun, maybe find some willing ladies."

The casual way he said it made something twist behind my ribs, even though, by all measures, that was what I would normally have done.

"Speaking of which."

Enzo’s smirk turned wicked.

"When's the last time you got laid, Brian?"

My face heated. If only he knew. Even Enzo would be shocked by the parade of faceless encounters I'd been using to manage the constant ache of need that seemed to live under my skin. The dating apps, the late-night meetings with strangers, the way I used sex to chase away the loneliness, if only for a moment.

The truth was, I got laid all the time. Too much, probably. Compulsively, addictively, desperately. Men, women, anyone who could provide the temporary oblivion I craved. But none of it meant anything, none of it satisfied the deeper hunger that seemed to grow stronger every time I tried to feed it.

"That's none of your business.”

My voice came out strangled, but it was okay. Enzo probably took it as embarrassment.

"Ah."

Enzo's grin turned predatory.

"Struck a nerve, did I? Let me guess. You think casual sex is dirty and wrong. You're waiting for your true love. Your body is a temple, and no one but that girl you dated in college has touched you.”

He was so far off the mark it would have been funny if it weren't so humiliating. The problem wasn't that I thought sex was dirty - the problem was that I couldn't seem to get enough of it, that I'd turned something that should have been intimate and meaningful into a series of transactions designed to quiet the noise in my head.

"You don't know anything about me."

I pushed against his chest to create some distance between us. His skin was warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, solid muscle under my palms, and I had to force myself to let go before I did something stupid.

"I know enough."

He didn't back away, didn't give me the space I needed to think clearly.

"I know you're wound tighter than a Swiss watch. I know you carry everyone else's problems on your shoulders like it's your job to fix the world. And I know you're standing here lecturing me about Gemma's privacy while fighting the urge to imagine what she looks like naked in that fancy shower."

The accusation hit like a slap, mostly because it was true.

"That's not—"

"It's okay, man."

Enzo's voice was gentler now, almost understanding.

"She's gorgeous. Any straight guy would be thinking about it. Hell, she's exactly your type: classy, put-together, probably the kind of woman who wears matching lingerie and keeps her financial records organized by color."

The description was so accurate it made my stomach clench. Gemma was exactly the kind of woman I'd always been attracted to: controlled, successful, the type who had her life together in ways I could only dream of. But she was also Jake's ex-fiancée, which made any attraction I might feel inappropriate.

Not that inappropriate had ever stopped me before.

"We should get back."

Despite my words, I made no move toward the suite door.

"Should we?"

Enzo leaned closer, close enough that his breath ghosted across my ear.

"Because I'm pretty sure she's going to be in that shower for a while, trying to wash off yesterday's mistakes. And I'm pretty sure you need to get out of your own head before you drive yourself crazy with guilt over something that's already done."

His proximity was making it hard to think, hard to remember why I was supposed to be the responsible one. The scent of his skin was intoxicating, warm and masculine and overwhelming. I found myself wondering what he'd taste like, whether his mouth would be as soft as it looked.

The thought spurred a surge of panic. This was exactly the kind of thinking that got me into trouble, the kind of impulse that led to bad decisions and complicated situations. I'd learned years ago that mixing attraction with friendship was a recipe for disaster. And Enzo was a walking disaster.

"I need some air."

I pushed past him toward the end of the corridor, where I could see glass doors leading to what looked like a deck.

The ship rolled gently beneath our feet, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the sound of water running through the suite's pipes. Gemma was still in the shower, still washing away the remnants of her failed wedding day, and here I was in the hallway, trying not to think about her naked body while fighting an increasingly inconvenient attraction to her ex-fiancé's best friend.

This cruise was going to be a disaster.