And lower still.
Sexual attraction was one thing, but he had no words for the intensity of what had arced between the two of them ever since he’d crouched down next to her, beside Philippe. And he could read women well enough to know that she felt it too.
Even tonight he’d paced his suite like some sort of caged beast, unable to stay on the ship and finding himself in the lobby of her hotel, still battling to tame this uninvited thing which roared through him.
He could put it down to the long months at sea—unlike a significant proportion of the ship, he had never indulged in the bed-hopping for which cruises were renowned. He’d prided himself that he’d always kept his career life clearly distinct from his sex life. Yet it had never left him feeling as restless, and jumpy, as he did now.
The backstreets to the restaurant were dark and quiet, allowing the sound of her heels to click that little bit longer. His skull hurt from shutting down all the X-rated images that it kept throwing up in his mind. It felt all too intimate. As if the warm night had cleared everywhere out just for them.
He didn’t want a meal, or a conversation. He just wanted to kiss her, to scratch this impossible itch that she’d caused—all over his skin. The kind of deep, unreachable, visceral itch that he didn’t think he’d ever experienced before.
Nikhil locked his jaw tight and propelled them on. Desire was closing around him, as terrifyingly vast and deep as the ocean itself. Every moment he spent with this woman felt like sinking beneath the waves that little bit further. And there was nothing he could do to save himself.
Worse, there was nothing he wanted to do to save himself.
‘You will be glad to know that Philippe is doing well,’ he ground out.
As if a scrap of banal conversation could diminish the swell of need. As if it were a pinpoint of light and he was swimming back up to meet it.
‘Oh. That’s great.’ But her voice was too thick, as if she, too, was fighting to resurface.
‘Thanks, in no small part, to you.’
The silence swirled around them again. Heavy. Bewitching.
‘What about your doctor? I presume you found out why he wasn’t on shore where you expected him to be.’
They both pretended there wasn’t desperation in her voice. That she, like him, wasn’t trying to fill the silence in order to stave off this animal lust that seemed to flow through them both.
‘Appendicitis,’ he told her grimly. ‘He’ll be out for a couple of weeks, so they’re flying another doctor in tomorrow.’
‘How d
oes the crew feel about having a new doctor mid-cruise?’ she asked suddenly.
And, against all expectation, the tension seemed to have cranked down a notch.
Nikhil shrugged, though she wasn’t looking at him, her attention focused ahead of her.
‘It depends on the doctor. Fortunately, I know the guy they’re flying in; I worked with him in the past, before I joined the Queen Cassiopeia.’
‘Right,’ she stated flatly. ‘Makes things easier.’
‘Ah, you’re worried about how easy your own move will be, onto the Jewel of Hestia.’
She pulled a rueful face and he told himself that it didn’t mean anything that he could read her so easily. It was a skill he’d acquired after years of being an officer and reading his colleagues. Or being a kid and reading his father’s temper. It had nothing to do with her per se.
He wasn’t entirely sure he believed that.
‘You’ll be fine. The Cassiopeia is out for months at a time; many of the crew have been working together for years. The Jewel runs shorter cruises, and the staff and crew turnover is higher. It’s a good ship but it’s a stepping stone for promotion to bigger and better liners, so they’re well accustomed to new faces.’
‘You think so?’
‘Keep performing like you did today with Philippe and they’ll be only too glad to have you as one of their doctors.’
‘That’s a relief.’ She blew out a breath and, that easily, the tension eased down another notch.
Maybe dinner wouldn’t be so fraught, after all.