Killer Cruise. Laura Levine

said. “We’ve been busy shopping.”

      Indeed, I looked down and saw they were all carrying shopping bags from the Holiday gift shop.

      “I always like to treat everybody to little souvenirs of our cruises.”

      “Really, you shouldn’t, Aunt Emily,” Maggie said. “You’re much too generous.”

      “I’ll say,” Kyle snapped, darting a none-too-subtle glance at the shopping bag dangling from Graham’s wrist.

      “Yes, my dear,” Graham said in his velvety British accent. “It was much appreciated—but most unnecessary.”

      “It was my pleasure, Graham,” Emily said, beaming up at him.

      Up to this point, I’d been avoiding eye contact with Robbie. After the way he’d ditched me last night, I was determined to play it cool. But now I couldn’t resist taking a peek at his face. And the minute I did, he hit me with his bad-boy grin.

      Oh, rats. Why did he have to be so darn cute?

      I stiffened my resolve to be cool and distant and unattainable.

      But before I got a chance to give him the snub he so richly deserved, our peppy social director, Paige, got on the mike and announced that an exciting ice sculpture demonstration was about to begin.

      Sure enough, I turned to see Anton seated at a table not far from us, with some ice picks and a big block of ice.

      “Ooh, let’s watch!” Emily said, with childlike enthusiasm.

      “I’m afraid I can’t, my dear,” Graham said. “I’ve got some important business matters to attend to.”

      “What a pity.” Emily’s face fell.

      “But I hope to see more of you later, sweet Emily.”

      Then he took her liver-spotted hand in his and kissed it. Wow, this guy was Cary Grant and Hugh Grant rolled into one.

      Emily stared after him, dreamy-eyed, as he walked off.

      Kyle was staring after him, too, with the wary, calculating look of a pit bull whose turf has just been threatened.

      “C’mon,” Ms. Nesbitt said, grabbing Emily’s elbow. “Let’s go see that ice sculpture.”

      “Yes, let’s!” Maggie seconded, hustling us over to get a better view.

      I tried to stay in the background, off Anton’s radarscope, but unfortunately he saw me in the crowd and waved.

      I smiled weakly and waved back.

      I have to admit, Anton lived up to his own hype.

      He wielded his ice picks with dramatic flair, picking and chipping away with the deftness of a neurosurgeon. Oohs and ahs erupted from the crowd as a bust of George Washington gradually emerged from the ice.

      He finished with a flourish, and the crowd broke out in applause. He was so proud of himself, I was surprised he wasn’t joining in.

      It was then that I heard Robbie’s voice in my ear.

      “So how’s it going?”

      I turned to face him, and in spite of myself, I felt my heart do a two-step.

      “You all set for Formal Night tonight?” he asked.

      Oh, rats. I’d forgotten all about that. I still hadn’t rented an outfit.

      “Maybe afterward,” he was saying, “we can go—”

      I never did hear where Robbie wanted to go, because just then Anton, ignoring the people who’d gathered to chat with him, came barging between us.

      Before I knew it, he had me cornered, his bright orange face just inches from mine. I watched helplessly as Robbie shrugged in defeat and backed away.

      “So, Jaine,” Anton said, “when am I going to get to do your bust?”

      Some other lifetime, mister.

      “Seriously, doll, I’d love for us to get better acquainted.” He smiled his version of a sexy smile, exposing a row of tobacco-stained teeth. “How about we rendezvous at my cabin tonight and I’ll show you my instruments?”

      Oh, wow. This guy was about as subtle as the bubonic plague.

      “Sorry, Anton, I’m not interested.”

      “C’mon, baby. All the ship’s employees fool around with each other. It’s a nautical tradition.”

      “I’m afraid you’ll have to carry on that proud tradition without me.”

      “Whattsa matter? You married? No problemo. I am too. What happens on board stays on board.”

      This said with a most nauseating leer.

      “So how about it, sweetheart? You ready for a ride in my love machine?”

      Oh, puh-leese. The only thing I was ready for was a barf bag.

      “Sorry, Anton. Still not interested.”

      “That’s okay, babe,” he said, eyeing me like a sirloin in a butcher’s case. “I like a challenge.”

      On that ominous note, he slithered away.

      Alone at last, I looked around for Robbie, but once more, he was gone with the wind.