Page 12 of Fire and Ice Cruise

“Cheers!” the room echoes.

The lights come up a notch, and the music shifts to something more upbeat. Conversations resume, laughter fills the air, and the bon voyage party kicks into full gear.

We watch as Gideon weaves through the crowd, stopping to chat with various guests. He makes his way to Marina, leans in close, and says something that makes her face drain of color. She shakes her head, says something back, and makes a beeline into the crowd, disappearing among the throng of guests.

“Huh, that was odd,” I say just above a whisper.

“I’ll see what that was about,” Wes says, but he’s immediately bombarded by a group of women who all want pictures with the handsome captain.

“Captain quicksand,” I murmur.

“He’s got about three minutes before they propose,” Ransom says.

“You’re optimistic. More like thirty seconds.”

Ransom and I watch as Gideon approaches Silas near the bar. Whatever Gideon says makes Silas’s expression harden. He gets right in Gideon’s face, his voice too low to hear but his body language screaming with fury. Then Silas marches off, leaving Gideon standing there with an amused smirk.

I shake my head. “Why do I get the feeling that man always has the upper hand?”

“Because you’re right,” Ransom says with a sigh. “And having the upper hand typically leads to trouble.”

Holland bumps into Gideon—a part of me wonders if it was a deliberate move—and she says something that wipes that smirk right off his face. He looks genuinely stunned as she turns on her heel and disappears into the depths of the crowd.

“This is a high-drama night,” Ransom observes with a frown.

“Let’s hope it’s not high-trauma.”

“Famous last words, Mrs. Baxter.”

“I specialize in famous last words. It’s practically a side hustle.”

The music shifts to something slower and far more romantic as Ransom extends his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

“You, my handsome, brilliant husband, may have every dance.”

I take it, and we move onto the makeshift dance floor where several couples are already swaying. His hand settles on the small of my back, and I rest my head against his shoulder, breathing in his familiar cologne—sandalwood, cedar, and that warm bottom note that is just him. We dance for twenty minutes, maybe longer, lost in our own little bubble while the party swirls around us.

“You know,” I murmur against his chest, “I think this Second Act Society has the right idea. We need to seize the present by the sexy horns.”

“That was definitely not in Gideon’s speech.”

“It should have been.” I pull back to look at him. “And, regardless, I think we should take some of our own advice.”

His eyes darken. “What did you have in mind?”

“Let me show you.”

I take his hand and lead him toward the exit, weaving through dancing couples and chattering groups. We slip out into the corridor, and I guide him down a dimly lit hallway away from the party noise. The hum of the ship is quieter here, the muffled beat of the music thumping faintly through the walls. It smells like lemon polish and whatever cologne the last steward was wearing. And despite the fact it’s romantic in its own way.

“Mrs. Baxter.” Ransom backs me against the wall with that growl I love. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Is it working?”

“Always.”

He kisses me, and I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and the entire world narrows down to just us, just this, just the two of us dancing through the⁠—