Page 50 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

A thought comes to me and I gasp as scenes from that racy encounter in the crew lounge flit through my mind.

There’s no way she could have witnessed it, could she have?

Orworse, maybe others were privy to it and snapped a couple of pictures for posterity—and to circulate among a couple hundred of their closest friends!

Or maybe they simply made a VIDEO!

Oh, good grief.

Why didn’t I think of any of this before?

Ransom and I could be going viral on at least three different porn sites by now. And there’s an off chance it wouldn’t be his first time. Not on purpose anyway.

I clear my throat as I try to regain my composure. “Just two?” I manage to smile as I say it. Let’s face it, the fact she only has two bones to pick with me signals that this is a light day.

“Oh, there are subsections, too,” Tinsley is quick to assure me as she continues to glare my way. “And don’t look so smug. First of all, have you been reading that scandalously inappropriate advice column Elodie has been posting on your blog? It’s an abomination. And I’ll have you know, the ship’s passengers are treating it like their personal bible of bad behavior. Either rein her in or I’ll find a way to delete her myself—from theship.”

My fingers fly to my lips like a reflex. “Oh my goodness. I guess I haven’t been reading it. But in case you weren’t aware, I have other things occupying my time.” I press my lips tight as memories of that afternoon delight come rushing back like a tidal wave—a tidal wave of pureecstasy.

She frowns twice as hard my way as if she were privy to my inner musing. “And that brings me to my second bone.” She inches closer and I inch back. “How dare you shake down a suspect without me. I thought we made a deal. I want in on this case, Trixie Troublefield, and if you won’t work with me, I’ll be forced to go rogue.”

“No, don’t do that,” I say as a genuine panic sets in. Tinsley may not be my biggest fan and vice versa, but I certainly don’t want her stumbling into the path of a killer. “And it’s Trixie TroublefieldBaxter, in case you need reminding.”

I have a feeling she will, and often, but only because she refuses to believe Ransom Baxter is off the market. Tinsley has a long history of lusting after both him and Wes. I suppose Wes is still up for grabs, but he’s made it clear he’s not interested in the brunette hurricane in front of me.

Tinsley lifts a finger, ready to argue about who knows what, when a blonde vision in pink sashays up.

Saved by the bombshell.

CHAPTER27

While Trixie’s Away, the Ship Will Play—The Elodie Edition

Hello, thrill seekers! While Trixie and Ransom are conducting their own version of maritime research (and honestly, their dedication to hands-on investigation is inspiring), let’s address today’s burning curiosity.

Dear Elodie,

Help! The cruise director mentioned something about a midnight chocolate buffet. My wife is excited, but it seems a bit late for dessert. Is it worth staying up for?

Sugar Rush Skeptic

My sweet seeker,

Too late for dessert? Oh honey, midnight is when dessert gets interesting. Trust me, you haven’t lived until you’ve watched your significant other sample the chocolate fountain after hours. Those dipping stations are like foreplay with better lighting.

The fresh strawberries are perfectly sized forsampling, and that whipped cream dispenser has settings you won’t find in the manual. Although I do recommend pacing yourself. The night watch is still talking about last month’s incident with the chocolate-covered cherries. Just FYI, the corner table behind the ice sculpture offers the most privacy fortasting sessions.Plus, it’s conveniently close to the supply of napkins. You’ll need them.

Indulging inappropriately,

XOXO Elodie

Trixie

I’ve never been soglad for Elodie’s impeccable sense of dramatic timing and inability to wear subtle colors—which explains my current rather electric wardrobe.

“Well, well.” Tinsley gives a snide smirk to the woman in pink as we stand in front of the casino. “If it isn’t the ship’s resident romance guru. Tell me, do your articles come with a warning label, or just a liability waiver?”

“Oh honey,” Elodie purrs while patting her perfectly coiffed locks. “The only warning needed is for people who don’t read them. And even though you seem to have perused my latest, greatest minxy musings, it’s clear you’re not implementing my hot-to-trot tips and tricks. In that case, I’ll be happy to give you some private coaching. Heaven knows you could use a lesson in letting your hair down—literally and figuratively.”

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