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An Excerpt From: DATE WITH DESTINY
Copyright © MANDY M. ROTH AND MICHELLE
M. PILLOW, 2007
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.
“Don’t you read the news, Winter? Do you know what kind
of diseases are on cruise ships? They’re like floating viruses, breeding
grounds for any sickness you could imagine. My goodness, if they don’t kill
you with communicable diseases transmitted from person to person, the food
will get you. I shudder to think how many forms of hepatitis could be
contracted on this thing. Don’t even get me started on restaurants at each
port. You never know…”
Winter rolled her eyes behind Anna’s designer-suit-clad
back and mimicked her talking. Her friend hadn’t shut up about the cruise
since she’d won it on the game show. Looking at the giant ship at port,
along the Texas coastline, she didn’t see Anna’s floating virus. She saw a
portal to fun. The blue ocean and warm, salty air beckoned them out to sea.
Though they would sail around the Caribbean, the ship schedule didn’t show
them docking at any island ports—or so Anna said as Winter didn’t live her
life by adhering to schedules. Instead they would be trapped, adrift in
paradise with nothing but the waves and, if her tea-leaf reading held true,
scores of single, hot men. Could anything be more romantic?
Hearing Anna’s loud, grumpy sigh, Winter said,
“Everything happens for a reason. Why not have a
little faith in the master plan? Maybe this cruise is your destiny.”
“No,” Anna said, matter-of-factly. “My date with destiny
was a brand-new black SUV with brown leather interior and all the add-on features.
Oh, and the complementary Jet Ski to pull behind it. Not some floating
deathtrap and a week of debauchery.”
“You’re planning on debau—on
getting laid?” Winter arched a brow, hopeful her friend was finally ready
to take a walk on the wild side of life. “By something that’s not
mechanical or requires batteries? Maybe you’re right,” she reached for
Anna’s forehead, “maybe you already contracted something.”
[…]
Christian sighed, leaning forward as he peered into the
suite’s oval bathroom mirror. Combing his long brown hair back from his
face, he pulled it into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. Not a hair
was out of place when he finished. He had personal grooming down to a
science.
He wore nothing but a towel wrapped neatly around his
firm waist. His bare feet absently tapped on the floor as Andre started on
his next Eighties tune. His twin really wasn’t a bad singer, if he’d just
stop butchering the lyrics.
Suddenly the shower turned off and Andre hopped out,
glistening wet as he strummed an air guitar and flicked his tongue in and
out. Christian’s brow rose as he tried not to watch Andre’s one-man show.
Though the event was oddly like a car crash—as much as one didn’t want to
look at it, the compulsion to do so trumped all restraints.
Andre didn’t even seem to notice he had an audience,
that or he just didn’t care. Still humming softly, he grabbed a towel off
the wall and haphazardly dried his hair then his body, not caring that he
missed a few spots.
“Hey, let me get in here,” Andre said, dropping his damp
towel on the floor and reaching toward the neatly organized sink. He
knocked down a bottle of cologne while grabbing the mousse. Squirting some
hair product on his hand, he continued humming as he dropped the can in the
sink. As Andre moussed his hair, combing the
messy length only with his fingers, Christian picked up the fallen bottles.
“Oh yeah, thanks, I need that.”
“You have a bathroom in your own cabin.”
“Oh, I know. But I sort of forgot to bring my toiletry
bag. I don’t have anything but my toothbrush next door. Well, that and my
clothes of course.”
“I gave you a list of what to pack.”
“Yeah, and when I was out the other night, I ran into
this foxy gal and needed something to give her my number with.” Andre
smiled. “It worked great, thanks.”
Christian didn’t dignify the comment with a response. He
sighed as Andre grabbed his cologne and put it on, not bothering to recap
it when he was done. Picking up after Andre as his brother strode from the
bathroom naked, he mumbled, “Just like home.”
Andre ignored his grumbling brother and headed to his
cabin in order to dress. Christian spent too much time being perfect. Andre
was just the opposite. He liked music, movies, making an artistic mess and
a well-written novel, especially the ones that had loads of steamy sex
poured on each page. Who wanted to have an intellectual conversation when
you could lie on your back and just let your mind drift aimlessly? Or watch
the latest hottie ride you as her tits bounced in
your face.
Ah, this is the life…or at least it was,
for soon I’ll be a married man.
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