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Angie.Relax. Enjoy the cruise. Nothing is going on.”
    “How can you say that? Didn’t you notice how whenever I ask about Sven or the cook, people change the conversation?” she asked.
    “I think you were the one who was changing the conversation,” he said.
    “Me?”
    “Come over here.”
    She crossed to his side. He took her hand and let his grip tighten, unable to hide the need he felt for her. He drew her onto the bed and she snuggled against him, the scent of her new perfume—a mixture of lilac and lilies—wafting over him. He kissed her, lightly at first, then deeply as his thoughts of how important she was to him enveloped him once more.
    “I don’t think—”
    “You’re changing the conversation again.” As he pulled her down among the pillows, she wrapped her arms around him, returning his kisses as fast as he gave them.
    “You taste so good,” she whispered then smiled impishly. “Maybe this is the Good Ship Lollipop .” She licked his ear.
    He felt as if fireworks exploded all around him. “As long as it’s not the Titanic .”
    Someone knocked on the door.
    “It is the Titanic ,” Paavo groaned, flopping onto his stomach.
    “Forget it,” she said, running her hands over his shoulders.
    The knock sounded again.
    “If you don’t go see who it is, you’ll be wondering about it all night.” He pulled the pillow over his head.
    She was already off the bed. “It can’t be anything serious.” She walked to the door and opened it. To her amazement two men, one tall and the other short, stood in the dark hallway.
    “Angie Amalfi?” the tall one asked.
    “Yes,” she replied.
    “We heard you’re a restaurant reviewer,” the short one said.
    “Why, yes.” She’d heard of calling on doctors late at night, but never restaurant reviewers.
    “We’re the cooks,” the taller one said. “Mike Jones here.”
    Mike Jones—what a simple name, she thought. Jones was a tall, slim, sandy-haired man, disarmingly handsome, wearing jeans and a blue pullover. He held out his hand. She took it and he gave her a strong, enthusiastic handshake, more like someone trying to sell Amway products than a cook.
    “Andrew Brown,” the short one said. “But I’m only Mike’s assistant.” He was young, short, and slender, with black hair and a peaked, almost washed-out look about his eyes. He, too, held out his hand in a firm handshake.
    “You’re both American,” Angie said, unable to hide her surprise.
    “That’s because most of the passengers are,” Jones explained. “We cook simple meals, but we’d like to cook something more. Pete Lichtywas the experienced cook, a Dane, but since he’s gone now—”
    “That’s why we came to see you,” Brown added.
    Did they expect her to cook? “Oh, well, I don’t—”
    “This is our free time—we don’t have to cook for anyone at night—and we were wondering if you’d join us for a drink in the lounge.” Jones smiled at her. A deep dimple marked his right cheek and its crease worked its way to his jaw. Young Andrew Brown seemed more washed out than ever by comparison.
    Before she had a chance to reply, he quickly added, “We’d really enjoy talking to someone who knows good food and good cooking.”
    “Well…” She glanced over her shoulder. “One second.”
    Something told her not to call out Paavo’s name as she walked back into the bedroom, and sure enough, his even breathing confirmed what she’d suspected might have happened—lying on the bed, he’d fallen asleep. Most likely, he’d be out for the night. He was still catching up on much-needed sleep. She hoped he’d catch up soon and again be the curious inspector she knew and loved.
    Wait…where had that thought come from? He was giving up all that dangerous curiosity, and she was glad of it. She had to keep in mind the old saying about curiosity and the cat, and be glad of Paavo’s new-found acquiescence.
    She glanced at her watch. It was only nine o’clock. Heck, she