With Every Breath (Sea Swept #2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

handsome young man!”  
    Apparently, West saves all his charm for the customers. I can’t say I’m surprised, not after his lecture about boosting revenue back at the photo shop. I bet he goes to bed each night staring at Excel spreadsheets and calculating sales figures.  
    “Say ‘bikini!’” West directs. The women laugh again, and as they say bikini the flash blinds me. West hands the women a brochure on where to purchase their picture and sends them into the atrium before we repeat the routine with a young couple who must be on their honeymoon by the looks of their “Mr.” and “Mrs.” matching t-shirts. I shift a little to my left to give them more room, but the husband takes one look at me and grins.  
    “Hey, don’t I get a hug? Damn it, I want a hug. I just got married!” He throws his arms open and I can smell the vodka on him, even through my costume. Wow, he really must’ve hit the bar early. The guy’s new wife smiles sheepishly at me.  
    “He heard that Kippy gives free hugs,” she says.  
    “Kippy does indeed give free hugs,” West replies. His gaze sharpens on me expectantly. “In fact, he loves giving hugs, doesn’t he?”  
    Oh, Jesus. This was definitely not part of the contract I signed. But you know what? If I can take a bath in cat litter, then I can give Drunk Dude a hug. So I open up my arms, shoot West a death glare through my mask, and step toward the passenger—who then wraps me in a bear hug and spins me around a few times before his wife finally talks him into getting their picture taken. After they leave, I lean dizzily against the wall and hope they won’t come back for Round 2.
    “Gee, thanks for telling me about the hug thing,” I say to West before the next set of passengers arrive. He throws me a half smile and snaps a few more test shots on his Nikon D3s, a camera body one step above mine. I only know that because Sofia had her eye on it before she got too sick.  
    “Yeah, Kippy is a hugger,” says West. “The passengers eat it up, and these photos are some of our best sellers.”
    “How long do I have to do this?”  
    He gives me a look. “Until everyone is on board.”
    “But that’s going to be …” Glancing at the never-ending embarkation line, I trail off in dismay. West nods.
    “Hours.” He smiles, and this time it’s downright wicked. “Hope you were right about those shoes being comfortable.”
    Damn him. And damn my shoes, which are comfortable enough, but which I know will start killing my feet after a while. I have sneakers for working out, of course, but when I’m not running or kickboxing I prefer cute footwear. I guess that’s the girly girl in me, but sue me for loving awesome shoes.  
    For the next few hours, I pose with the endless stream of passengers. It must have started raining again, because people are dripping wet and none too happy to have their dream vacation start with a storm. West has to work hard to get them to smile, and several groups shrug him off entirely, refusing to get their pictures taken and flatly asking where the buffet is.
    After we send off a big family group toward the atrium, there’s a lull.  
    “Tired yet?” West asks.  
    “Not at all,” I lie. My feet throb, but there’s no way I’m telling him that. I glance toward the atrium, then at the embarkation point. “I don’t remember this from when I cruised. It was on this boat, but we didn’t get pictures when we boarded.” Sure, I remember photographers taking portraits on formal night, and have a great one they took of me and some of the Kappa girls at the beach, but I don’t recall ever being accosted by a giant red heart. I think something like that would’ve been seared into my memory.  
    “When was your cruise?” West asks.
    “New Year’s Eve.”
    He grunts. “They just finished the upgrades on this ship in February. Before that, people boarded down a few decks, but when the ship was in dry dock they changed up a bunch of