Make You Mine by Macy Beckett Read Free Book Online

Historian
.” He turned to Pawpaw and arched a brow at the old man’s ridiculous title. As if the crotchety old coot were qualified to dispense knowledge beyond how to brew homemade whiskey.
    Pawpaw pressed his wrinkled lips into a line, glaring at Marc in a way that warned he’d conceded the battle but not the war. As he stalked out the pilothouse door, he grumbled, “We’re gonna need more salt.”
    Marc released a breath and tried to reclaim his perfect day, but it wasn’t happening. Even the clouds knitted together, obscuring the sun and putting the kibosh on his grace from above. He called one of his copilots to man the controls, figuring he might as well head downstairs to mingle with the guests and check in with his sister, the head purser.
    On his way to the main level, Marc turned a critical eye down each hallway, pleased to find uniformed maids shuttling clean towels and fresh ice water into each room. When he passed the reading salon, he nodded a greeting to a lone guest curled up on the plush chaise longue, romance novel in one hand and a cocktail in the other. That’s what Marc wanted to see—his passengers relaxed and happy.
    He descended the sweeping mahogany staircase and crossed the lobby to the main desk, where Alex was showing Worm how to operate the intercom system while Ella-Claire tapped at her keyboard.
    The instant Ella-Claire’s blue gaze darted up from her computer screen, her face broke into a wide grin. She skirted the desk and came running at Marc, chestnut ponytail swinging above her crisp white purser’s uniform, sensible black heels clicking against the wood floor. She threw her arms around him and hugged his neck.
    “Congrats, Captain,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”
    Marc gave her a squeeze and a smile to match. His little sister knew how much this day meant to him, and he loved her for it. They were half siblings—same mama, different daddies—but even though the
Belle
wasn’t Ella’s legacy, she’d spent every summer since her fourteenth birthday sweating right alongside him on this boat. Together, they’d towed luggage and scrubbed decks until his daddy had recognized Ella’s talent for sweet-talking irate guests. He’d trained her for customer service, and now ten years later she practically ran the show.
    “How’s it going so far?” Marc said. “Any snags?”
    She offered a reassuring pat on the forearm and returned to her station behind the polished wood counter. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
    “What about the Gibsons?” Alex asked her.
    Ella threw Alex a sharp look.
    The Gibsons. Why did that name sound familiar to Marc? “What about them?”
    “They’re one of the couples who double-booked the honeymoon suite,” Ella explained. “The bride’s not happy with the stateroom.”
    “Even though we comped all their tours?”
    Ella nodded. “I invited them to sit at your table for supper, but they didn’t seem too excited about that.”
    No doubt. If you asked Marc, the best honeymoon was the kind where nobody left the bed. What was the point in going through all that wedding bullshit—not to mention the divorce that would inevitably follow—if you didn’t get a week of nonstop sex out of it?
    “I’ll stop by their table tonight and see if I can smooth things over,” he said.
    “Thanks.” Ella grabbed her clipboard and slipped a pencil behind one ear. “That reminds me, I’ve got to run to the dining hall real quick.”
    She asked Alex to hold down the fort until she returned, and after giving Marc a quick kiss on the cheek, she clicked off to her destination.
    Worm leaned over the counter and pushed aside his shaggy brown hair to watch her leave, ogling her backside in clear appreciation while he murmured, “Sweet Cheez-Its.”
    Marc’s jaw tightened. He swiveled his head and burned a warning glare into his kid brother’s forehead. “Don’t look at my sister like that.”
    “Why not?” Worm asked. “She’s