Page 86 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“We were not⁠—”

“You absolutely were.” She grins. “Don’t worry, I’m not judging. If I had a husband who looked like yours, footsie would be the tamest thing happening under that table.”

“Remind me never to sit next to you and your date,” I tease.

Okay, fine, I’m not teasing.

Speaking of my husband, both Ransom and Wes are standing near the entrance, and I nearly lose my train of thought, my dinner plans, and several years of sensible behavior all in one glance.

Ransom is in a midnight-black suit that looks cut to fit every inch of his body. A crisp white collar sits sharp against his jaw, and the salt-and-pepper at his temples gleams under the chandeliers. His cobalt eyes sweep the room the way they always do, cataloging exits and threats, and every woman his gaze passes over looks vaguely disappointed about it. The man is lethally handsome on an average day. Tonight he’s a felony in progress.

And I get to take him home. I may never stop gloating.

Wes is in his dress navy captain’s uniform with all the brass on the ship glittering on his blazer, and he looks annoyingly handsome in that distinguished, silver-fox manner that probably has passengers swooning into their shrimp cocktails on a nightly basis. Notably absent is the horned helmet he swore he’d wear. My guess is dignity staged a last-minute coup. Either that or Ransom confiscated it at the door as a security risk.

Elodie saunters over to them, champagne in hand, and I follow because this has entertainment written all over it.

“Well, well,” Elodie drawls, looking Ransom up and down. “The ultimate Viking brute, civilized in a suit. Who knew you cleaned up so well?”

“I wear suits regularly,” Ransom points out.

“Yes, but usually you’re scowling while wearing them. Tonight you look almost approachable.” She turns to me. “Make sure he ravishes you properly tonight. You’ve been a little uptight lately and it’s showing in your shoulders.”

“Elodie!” I can’t help but laugh.

“What? I’m just being helpful.” She winks at Wes. “And you, Captain. Please tell me you’re about to sweep our newest doe-eyed crew member off her feet. The woman can’t stop stealing glances at you.”

I laugh again. “As if he can stop stealing them right back.”

Wes goes slightly pink, which is adorable on a man his age. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Elodie says. “That’s why you’ve asked her about maritime defensive structures seventeen times this week.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Only slightly.”

Ransom’s trying not to smile, and losing. “Just talk to her, Wes. You’re a grown man. Use your words.”

“I use words all the time. I’m excellent with words.” Wes actually manages to look affronted by this.

“Romantic words,” I clarify. “Not nautical ones. Nobody’s heart has ever fluttered over the phrase muster station.”

Wes’ phone buzzes and he pulls it out, frowning at the screen. “I need to check on something at the bridge. The night crew is reporting some minor navigation concerns.”

“Minor navigation concerns on a docked ship?” Elodie asks.

“Preparation for our departure.” He’s already heading toward the exit. “I’ll be back.”

In my experience, nothing on this ship that starts with the word minor ever stays that way.

Ransom watches him go, then turns to me. “I need to secure the perimeter. I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

“About the party?”

“About everything. Too many people, too much champagne, and a killer who hasn’t been caught yet.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Stay with Bess and Nettie. Don’t wander off alone.”

“Yes, Chief.”