Kiss Me Maybe (Princess Cruises Presents: Kindle Love Stories) (2 page)

Megan spun, glancing behind her and only vaguely aware of a tall form making its way to her while she left a puddle of water on the deck. She stopped dead when a voice interrupted her puppy-chasing-her-tail motion.

“May I help?” The sound was velvet, deep, filled with sin and just enough friendliness to cause nice girls to nearly faint then open their arms wide and obey whatever that voice commanded. Megan blinked; she might have nodded but wasn’t sure until a firm hand landed on her shoulder. The other made its way to the back of her swimsuit and, remembering horrifying moments from high school, she wondered if he was going to release the clasp. She sucked a breath, waiting for the spring. But instead,
he
waited for her command.

She’d closed her eyes, but opened one and looked up up up over her shoulder and into a dark gaze.

A delicious smile tilted the side of his cheek. “May I?” He nodded toward her back. “You have a bit of your hair caught in the clasp.”

“Oh.” Her eyes flew open fully and she nodded.

His hand left her shoulder and she felt the gentlest tug across the middle of her back. The sensation was dizzying. Gooseflesh broke out along her arms.

“Just about there,” he purred, his hand seeming to move like an expert’s. He released a long breath that slid over her exposed skin and into all the intimate places one didn’t usually share with a complete stranger. The back of her neck, the narrow cave between her breasts, that space where her shoulder blades met.

“I’d hoped to catch a mermaid on this cruise, but I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.”

“What?”

“A mermaid,” he said. “Actually, to be more specific, a seawitch.”

She hadn’t meant for her fist to land on her cocked hip, but there it was. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled and placed both hands in front of his body. “No offense. A seawitch isn’t . . . well, it’s not what you’re thinking . . . at least, what I assume you’re thinking if the scowl on your face is any indication.”

Megan narrowed her gaze, but more out of intrigue than anger.

Handsome talked on. “Surely you’ve heard about Aquanna, the seawitch. Half human, half mermaid. Beauty of the depths?”

She tilted her head, curious as a cat, and wondered if tall, hunky guys like this were stationed at various spots on the ship to rescue damsels in distress then call them names. This would make some story back home.
Yeah, I met a cute guy. He rescued me from my own hair
and called me a witch
.
Of course, she intended to go home with a much more brilliant story than that. And then she realized maybe . . . just maybe . . . this was the beginning of that story. “Aqua who?”

He chuckled, sliding his hands into his khaki shorts. “Aquanna. The seawitch some people claim to have seen while aboard the ship.”

“Oooooh.” One thing Megan loved was a good story, and fairy tales were the best. She took a moment to examine the tall stranger. Smooth, no doubt. But also with a Midwestern ruggedness about him. A tiny scar—barely visible—marred his chin, and was there a faint hint of a Southern accent in his tone? “And you hoped to see her?”

He looked out over the water. “I’m keeping my eyes peeled.”

Her heart beat a little faster. “Can you tell me the story?”

His gaze pinned her, and the lightness of the moment faded to something deeper, something stronger. She was a ship being tossed at sea, her equilibrium lost in those eyes that had been bright one moment and were filled with depth and mystery the next. The tiny flecks in his irises flashed like a promise. Or perhaps a warning.

“I’ll tell you at dinner,” he whispered.

Megan drew her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down. The motion wasn’t lost on him and her flesh prickled at the way his eyes dropped to her lips at her movement. Her mind rushed forward to a newspaper announcement she was already writing
. . .
the couple met aboard
Emerald Princess
while cruising to the Caribbean. A minor mishap and a dashing rescue and the two spent the entire cruise toge
ther. Megan Cooper and Richar
d—insert last name here—
will be
wed at—insert
such and such a
time at such and such a place.
Oh yes, it was perfect. As long as Handsome’s name was Richard.

“Dinner?” she echoed, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded. “At Sabatini’s. Do you like Italian?”

But what
if his name wasn
’
t Richard?
“I’m pretty fond of any and all kinds of food. Except Brussels sprouts. Just can’t go there.”

“So, we’ll meet at Sabatini’s at seven? You have my word as a gentleman there will be no Brussels sprouts.”

Megan pulled a hand to her mouth, chewed her index fingernail. “What’s your name?”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “If I tell you, it will ruin the mystique.”

“If I don’t show up,
that
will ruin the mystique.”

He chuckled. “True. My name is Alexander.”

Her heart dropped. “Alexander . . .” she drew the word out so he could fill in the rest.

“I’ll tell you at dinner.”

She cocked her hip again. “Alexander Richards?”

His brow quirked a frown. “Dinner. Seven o’clock. Sabatini’s.” He started to walk away.

She called after him. “Don’t you want to know my name?”

He half turned and glanced back like a male model on a photo shoot.

She folded her hands over her chest because his eyes on her made her feel deliciously exposed. “My name is Megan.”

He bowed, very Prince Charming, and winked. Alexander walked away. And Megan knew she’d either begun her adventure perfectly, or she’d thrown a terrible wrench into it. She wasn’t sure which. And right now, with the steel drum music and island atmosphere, she didn’t care. If this wasn’t her Richard, he was somewhere. On the ship. She’d find him. After all, Grandma Trini was never wrong.

It is unwise to try to capture a seawitch. One can only beckon and hope for the best. If a seawitch chooses you, then you are truly blessed.

She
’
ll be
here
, Alex told himself over and over. He stood at the door to Sabatini’s, one of the fine-dining restaurants the ship was known for. It was nearly seven. When the nerves hit—so unlike him—he wandered into Adagio, a lounge adjacent to Sabatini’s. Inside Adagio, he chose a spot at the bar where he could look out and see a panoramic view of the ocean.

The lone bartender smiled. “What can I get for you?”

But just as he was beginning to open his mouth to order, a sensation skated across the back of his neck. Practically tangible, almost like silk. Alex turned. And there she was, standing in the doorway. Her hair pulled back, her shoulders bare with a delicate scarf caressing her throat. Black dress, fitted through the midsection, a slit on one leg revealing tan skin. High-heeled sandals with rhinestones. Gorgeous.

He slid off the barstool; words were bouncing around in his head, but he couldn’t get them out of his mouth.

The silence caused her to falter. A frown pinched her brow. “Am I late?”

He sucked a breath, hoping it would stabilize him. “You’re perfect.”

And then she smiled and the motion sent hot lava into the pit of his belly. Alexander moved to her and took her arm then led her to the door of Sabatini’s, where the host, a man dressed in a pale suit, greeted them.
“
Buonasera
.
”

“Andrews, party of two.”

Megan’s head jerked to look at him.

The gentleman nodded. “Oh, yes, yes. Andrews. I have the perfect place for you. My favorite table. Very romantic, overlooking the fountain and the ocean beyond. Come, come.”

Alexander led her through the dining room, a masterpiece that mimicked the warm ambiance of Italy. Tuscan-inspired columns and archways created intimacy for each set of diners. Warm polished wood accented the circular ceiling, creating just enough whimsy to make one think they’d stepped into another world. Alexander and Megan took a seat at a linen-covered table decorated with fresh flowers and an array of crystal goblets.

“My name is Cristoforo. I am from Northern Italy. Welcome to Sabatini’s. Tonight you will be dining with us for two to three hours. We are bringing you our herbed and spiced focaccia grissini, rosemary flatbread with delicate prosciutto and marinated olives.” All this he said with an Italian accent that made each word roll out of his mouth like a song.

He continued, “After that you will be choosing from our delicious antipasti menu, selecting a pasta and a
secondo
piatto
—which is the main course. What questions may I answer for you?”

“There’s no way I can eat all that,” Megan said, but the smile on her face gave her away. She was willing to try.

Cristoforo bowed at the waist. “You will love each course; it is my promise. And it will be just enough . . .” His eyes twinkled. “To have room for dessert.”

“I’ll split my dress wide open.” She lifted her hands in a shrug. “Okay, I’m at your mercy.”

The two ordered and drinks were delivered to the table.

Alex watched her smile grow as the expert waitstaff doted on them. “Not used to this kind of pampering, are you?”

Her eyes widened. “Who is used to this? I mean, really? Other than royalty?”

“And mermaids,” he inserted.

She half grinned. “Don’t you mean seawitches?”

“Of course.”

“Wait a minute. Are
you
used to this? And don’t forget your promise to tell me everything about Aquanna.”

“I travel a lot for work. Lots of five-star hotels and restaurants, but I have to say, so far the service on board has been stellar. And the view is second to none.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten in a five-star restaurant, and I’m not sure I wouldn’t make a complete fool of myself if I did.”

He chuckled, leaning forward. “I highly doubt that.”

“You don’t know me.” Her shoulder tipped. “I ruined a cakewalk once by falling into the prize table.”

“Shocking,” he said.

“And one time at the grocery store, I dropped a whole box of soda cans on the floor, and they went spewing in all directions.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “Horrifying.”

Megan took a sip of water, a motion he found much more interesting than her stories of mishap.

“I’m just warning you.” Her gaze went to the window where the setting sun kissed the water’s edge.

He watched as her eyes became troubled. “What’s wrong, Megan?”

“Your name
really
isn’t Richard?” The green of her irises deepened, sadness creating a gentle fog that caused his heart to ache.

“No. Why Richard?”

She rested her elbows on the table and examined him. “Do you have a stepdad? Was your mother’s maiden name Richards? Or Richardson? Or something like that?”

Perhaps she’d escaped the mental ward. “No on all counts. What’s so special about the name Richard?”

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly as her attention went to the fountain. Its colors were mesmerizing and it was a long time before she spoke. “It has to do with my grandma.”

Alexander could see both love and adoration for the woman in Megan’s face. Hear it in her voice. “Will you tell me, Megan?”

Her attention snapped to him and she nodded, but he watched as a cloud of uncertainty quickly followed.

Alexander settled in to hear the story he was certain he could get her to tell. “Please.”

She tilted back, gazed up at the ornate ceiling, and he was fairly certain she was weighing the decision to divulge her secret or not. Then, like a lightning bolt she leaned forward and pinned him with her intensity. “You see, my grandma sees the future. Well, where couples are concerned. She had a dream. In the dream, I went on this”—and as she said it, her index finger poked the linen tablecloth—“cruise and I met my soul mate. And his name was Richard.”

For the briefest of seconds, Alexander thought she must be kidding, but the flat stare from across the candlelit table let him know this was no joke to her.

And quite suddenly, he opened his mouth and words—words he had no intention of saying—gurgled up, overflowing like the fountain beyond the window. “Do you believe in things like that?”

She blinked. “Well . . . well, yes. Of course. Grandma Trini is no ordinary old lady. I mean, she saw a vision of my aunt falling off a horse—my aunt had never ridden a horse—and being rescued by an off-duty fireman and guess what?”

He bit his cheeks. “Your aunt went on a horse ride and—”

She nodded furiously. “You guessed it.”

He folded his arms on the table and stared at her hard, but the smile stayed planted on his face and if his life depended on its removal, he’d be in trouble. “You’re basing your future on a dream by an elderly woman who once dreamed about a woman who’d never ridden a horse before, but then did and fell off.”

Megan raised a finger. “And met her soul mate.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.”

“Don’t you believe in fate? In . . .” Megan tugged on the ends of the silky scarf around her throat. Her eyes had gone the color of emeralds set on fire and if Alexander could capture that look, he’d do it. It was beautiful.

“In what, Megan?”

Then her eyes were on him. Green. Direct. “Love.” After she said it, she pulled her lip into her mouth and bit down. “I’m sorry. That was really silly.”