Bee focused on the water running over her hands, soaking the paper towel, and not on the tightness in her lungs. The crew’s kitchen had shrunk since she’d been in it a few minutes ago. The microwave and coffee brewer, however, were dirty as ever.
Adam leaned on the counter next to the sink, so close to her she could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves. Like a boat speeding through a canal, she was caught in the wake of him.
The faucet squeaked when she shut off the water.
She looked him over to see where she needed to start. His knuckles were a bloody, torn mess. Red marks littered his forearms and throat. He had a black eye, bruises and cuts on both cheeks, dried blood in his nostrils. The wound on his forehead had stopped bleeding some time ago, leaving streaks down one side of his face that made him look a comic-book villain. Oliver was addicted to those Marvel movies, had a couple dozen Iron Man comics that he thumbed through regularly instead of doing his homework. It was always so hard to get him to do his homework.
Bee shook the thought of her son away. She started with Adam’s face, concentrating on cleaning him up without causing harm, and not on how comfortably warm his skin felt beneath her fingertips. ‘You think you broke anything?’
‘Nah.’ He tilted his head to give her better access to his throat. ‘My ribs aren’t too happy with me, but there’s no grinding when I breathe, so I think I’ll survive.’
She could feel his pulse beneath the soft skin of his neck. ‘Spoken like someone with experience.’
‘Too damn much.’
Bee tossed the paper towel in the bin. ‘I’ve done all I can do.’ There wasn’t any hiding the bruises or lacerations.
Adam turned on the water and lathered the soap on his hands, up his arms then scrubbed his face.
Ah. He’d let her play nurse for funsies apparently.
‘It’d be bad if that giant guy woke up and found us here now with all that soap in your eyes, wouldn’t it?’
He flashed her a sudsy grin. ‘Especially since your shoes won’t work as weapons.’
Bee looked down at her stolen flats and considered that. ‘I could always throw them at his junk.’
Adam chuckled as he dried off. At least the blood was gone. The lights were dim enough in the ship that he wouldn’t draw too much attention, but she would’ve felt better with a guarantee.
Or a distraction.
‘Hey, Malika,’ Bee said. ‘What are the Anas up to?’
‘Hey, yeah, sorry.’ Malika didn’t sound sorry at all. ‘I was busy closing my eyes and humming the national anthem. Let me Where’s Waldo them.’
Bee raked her fingers through her hair. ‘We gotta be careful getting out of here. You know what to do, right? Walk with purpose, look straight ahead, don’t make eye contact.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ He tugged his earlobe. ‘Probably a good thing there ain’t a mirror around here. Don’t want to get self-conscious.’
She touched her laughing lips. ‘Don’t worry about it. Women love oozing, open wounds.’
‘Well, I wish someone would’ve told me that sooner.’
‘Woulda saved you a lot of trouble, huh?’
‘Hey, listen. About what you said—’
Bee framed her face with her hands and groaned, ‘Not what I said!’
‘—about Ibiza,’ he continued, undeterred, that look of straight-lipped, playful amusement lighting up his features, ‘I just … I wanted to say … me too.’
Goosebumps prickled over her exposed skin.
She steadied herself. ‘Adam—’
‘Found ’em,’ Malika cut in. ‘They’re eating in the sit-down restaurant.’
Bee sighed. ‘On our way up. Keep an eye on them please.’
She left Adam at the dimmest corner of the bar they could find and strolled across the deck, passing the maître d’ and into the restaurant without so much as a, ‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’ It really was amazing the places you could get into if you walked with purpose in a stolen uniform.
‘Excuse me, ladies,’ she said when she reached their table, standing next to it like she was taking a drink order.
Anastasia managed to spit-take back into her Martini glass with a level of grace most people would never be able to achieve sober. ‘What? What is this? This is trick or treat?’
‘Yep,’ Malika said. ‘This is your own personal Halloween. She caught you, Bee. Time to turn it in.’
Bee held on to the back of the empty chair across from them. ‘I need another favor.’
Liliana raised her champagne glass, pinky up. ‘It’s going to cost you more wine, Beatrice, whatever it is.’
‘When the boat docks, how would you feel about causing a bit of a distraction?’
Liliana swallowed her drink and attempted to pucker her motionless brow. ‘How much of a bit?’
‘A big bit,’ admitted Bee. ‘A really big bit.’
Anastasia clinked her glass against Liliana’s. ‘It’s what we were born to do.’
The Anas didn’t waste any time. The moment the boat docked and people started gathering belongings to leave, Liliana threw a glass of champagne in Anastasia’s face and screamed in Spanish.
Anastasia shoved the much smaller girl, shouting in Russian.
And then they were tumbling across the floor, knocking over tables and people, shoes and weave flying.
Adam took Bee by the hand and walked around the melee. They were among the first to disembark.
‘Some friends,’ he said when they were in the car.
‘Yeah,’ Bee agreed, beaming. ‘And to think it used to be only our kids that bonded us.’
Their borrowed Mercedes merged into traffic.
‘Now you’ve got crime.’
‘It’s a solid foundation to any friendship.’ She patted his hand on the gear shift. He surprised her when he turned his palm around. ‘Right?’
He squeezed her fingers and held on for the rest of the ride.
The hotel lobby was busy. The same nerds from the day before hung out by the grand piano, singing along with the poor musician who was working for every last cent of his tip. But no one was in a rush to get back up to their rooms, so Adam and Bee had the elevator all to themselves.
He stood next to her when the door closed, his arm brushing hers, and Bee could feel the connection tingle all the way down to her wrist. She clenched her hands into fists and released them again, breath quickening, and stared at the occupancy notice.
They’d been alone together for a solid hour and a half before this moment. They’d held hands in the car! Why was she getting so worked up now?
Bee giggled at nothing and stepped to the side. ‘What a night,’ she said in a voice not quite her own. ‘What a night.’
‘We got done what we needed.’ He shrugged, hands in his pockets. ‘Banks’ll be there in the morning. Good work all around.’
‘Yep.’ She swallowed, her mouth dry. ‘And thanks. Glad you, uh, came around on my skills.’
He hung his head, not quite able to hide his smile. ‘I’m never going to hear the end of that.’
‘Not for as long as I’m alive you’re not.’ She shuddered. ‘I’m never going to get over what I had to do to that poor shoe.’
Adam stepped closer. She had to lean her head against the wall of the elevator to see his face. ‘Your poor shoe,’ he cooed, a teasing, happy lilt to his voice. ‘You just got it today too.’
‘That’s right.’ She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. ‘I never got to use it to its full potential.’
‘I’m not so sure about that. I think it far exceeded its potential.’
Bee grinned, grazing her teeth over her lip. ‘Saved your life.’
‘Nah,’ he said, his voice a low whisper, ‘I had it handled.’
She relaxed against the wall as he moved closer. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘It’s like you said.’ Two gentle fingers under her chin lifted her face towards his. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, his hazel eyes tracking the motion, and Bee’s heart thudded so hard against her ribcage, she lost her breath.
His forehead pressed against hers; his hand moved to the back of her head; his fingers combed through her hair.
‘Chicks dig wounds.’
‘I didn’t say chi—’
His kiss cut off her sentence.
Oh God. He remembered the way she liked it. Her knees buckled, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close. She clutched his back, feeling every defined muscle along the way, trying to remember exactly how he’d felt all those years ago. What was the same. What was different.
It felt like the first time again.
It felt like they’d never stopped.
Bee moved her hands to the back of his neck, locking her fingers together to hold him in place. She pushed her thumbs lightly against his head, and he responded immediately, changing the angle of the kiss to deepen it, and she gasped out an appreciative little mewl.
Adam’s arms surrounded her and lifted her to her tiptoes, pulling her flush against him. Heat spread through her body, warming her cheeks, pooling in her gut.
Every thought in her head slipped away until the only things she was aware of were Adam’s lips and Adam’s hands and her own thundering heart.
Someone coughed.
The elevator had been called back to the lobby. The doors were open, and Adam and Bee found themselves with an audience of three.
Bee disentangled herself as quickly as possible, not making eye contact with Adam or anyone else entering the elevator.
‘Don’t have to stop on my account,’ a bespectacled woman said. ‘See, Harold. That’s how you treat a lady.’
Harold, who was even balder than Adam, groused unintelligibly and pressed his floor button.
Bee covered her face with her hand. Her cheeks burned. She had to clamp her lips shut to keep from laughing.
Adam wasn’t embarrassed about being caught in public. He held the small of her back and kissed her hair. ‘It was a good night.’
‘Not as good as it will be, right?’ The third person in their audience – a thirty-something, stringy-haired man – raised his hand for a high five.
Adam glared at him until he lowered it.
String Hair high-fived himself. ‘All right.’