Tempest Tossed: A Love Unexpected Novel (5 page)

Dylan nodded. "By all means . . ."

I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I left the dining room. I was glad he couldn't see the crimson that burned up from my chest to my forehead.

Chapter 6—Dylan

"What the hell was that about?" I asked myself out loud.

"I was going to ask you the same damn thing." Stephen abruptly stood and took his coffee cup over to the starboard window. "I thought this trip was about getting away from all that."

"Actually, this trip is about going to London to throw myself on Dad's mercy. Again."

"I know that. It's just that last night you were talking about the sea and getting away from chicks like your cousin."

"In case you haven't noticed, Stephen, our new chef is about as much like my cousin and her ilk as it's possible to get and still have two X chromosomes."

Stephen stared out of the window. I couldn't see his face, but I realized he had taken a shine to her.
I continued, "I didn't ask her to bed, Captain. I just requested she serve my meals. I think I'm entitled to that."

"Sure you are, Dylan. You're the Boss." Stephen put his coffee cup on the table with just a wee bit more force than necessary.

"Don't you have a checklist to go over somewhere?" I was annoyed that Stephen had already cast himself in some protective role for a woman who didn't seem to need it. The way she reacted the night before was hardly shy behavior. She could have backed right out of that kitchen. She could have screamed and hidden her face in her hands. Instead she took a good long look at me. And she decidedly did
not
avert her eyes from any part of my anatomy.

And so what if I'd rather have a good-looking female put my plate in front of me? I had every right to prefer a Renoir nude over some abstract masterpiece and I had every right to choose Rene over Angelo to serve my meals.

I looked up at the clock. The morning was crawling by. I went back to my stateroom and changed into a pair of trunks. I figured I could kill an hour or so in the pool and stay cool. Hoping the water would soothe my nerves; I went up to the foredeck and jumped in.

I slipped all the way under and let the air bubble up out of my mouth to the surface. Having worked on my breath holding ability made it easy for me to just sit on the bottom of the shallow pool and allow the watery sounds to fill my head. Usually this worked miracles on any tension I was carrying around. I've never been a big believer in astrology, but I had to admit I lived up to my water sign Pisces, sign of the dual fish, I've always been happiest around water.

For some reason the water therapy wasn't working. I couldn't get that little chef out of my head. It couldn't all be about her resemblance to some long-ago and nearly forgotten nurse who was kind to me. And even though I found her almost painfully pretty, South Florida was a Mecca for stunning women. South Beach had babes on every corner. The French term
je ne sais quoi
popped into my head. She had something and it was most definitely in the category of 'I don't know what'. 

Territorial behavior has never been one of my problems with women. As a confessed 'loner' I never got far enough into a chick to care who else wanted her. And the women I have dated couldn't be pried from me with a crow bar. The dollar signs were just too strong a sex symbol. I knew it, they knew it and it was all good. I tended to lean toward shallow but honest affairs. They've always worked for me.

Now, in the span of twenty-four hours I had twice snapped at my best buddy because he had expressed an interest in a female. That wasn't like me. Not at all. I wondered if the next step was going to be spraying in all the corners like a tomcat.

I came up for air and went back down again. I watched the sun bend in the water and wished I was hearing the hum of the big diesels instead of the short slap of the waves someone's wake pushing up against the hull. When I breeched the surface the next time I saw someone parking a cart full of produce at the end of El Loco's gangplank. Rene and Angelo soon appeared to receive the order. Rene had a clipboard and checked off the items as the two men muscled the bags of fruits and vegetables onto the deck below. I watched her look in every bag and box. A lock of her soft brown hair had escaped the tight knot at the back of her neck and she kept tucking it behind her ear as she leaned over to look at each item. When the breeze dislodged it I saw the strands capture the morning sun and glint with gold. I imagined that hair spread out across my pillow. I tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the mental picture.

She was checking the order carefully, that's for sure. At one point, she found something she didn't like. I could see it on her face. She called the delivery guy back and showed him the box of whatever it was that had her wrinkling her nose. It was impossible not to smile at how stern she looked. The delivery guy was a big burly black man three times her size but she had him hanging his head with a wag of her tiny finger. It was obvious from her posture and her concentration that she was taking the task of provisioning the boat very seriously. That appealed to me. Hell, she appealed to me.

The box left on the cart it came in on. I swore to myself. It meant that the produce guy was going to have to go and get a replacement and that would mean that much more waiting. I realized it didn't really matter since Phoebe & Co. were not likely to show up before noon anyway. I submerged again and sighed into the water.

I hadn't asked who my cousin was bringing with her. Not that it would have mattered. Phebes and her friends were all cut from the same bolt of expensive silk. I'd met dozens of them over the years and they all sort of blended into a leggy blond blur. It's not that I hated blond hair. I had just gotten so bored with the predictable sameness of them all. I hadn’t heard an original thought articulated from a woman’s mouth in a long, long time.

I popped my head up and saw Rene hesitating at the end of the gang plank. She was concentrating intently as she grabbed the side rail and made her way across with peculiar graceless steps. I recalled her looking clumsy when she first came on the boat, too. Odd.

The water was starting to shrivel my skin so I dried off and climbed up to the bridge to nose around and waste a little time. The wheelhouse was empty. I sat down in the big captain's chair and drifted into a fantasy of looking out over the bow with nothing but several thousand miles of Atlantic Ocean in front of me. I didn't relish what waited for me on the other side of the pond, but I was sure looking forward to the journey.

I hadn’t warned my father that I’d be paying him a visit, but he’d know soon enough. I knew he had plenty of spies all over the place. Phoebe was undoubtedly one of them.

I loved El Loco's exquisite nerve center. Every time I sat in front of the half dozen screens I felt like I was commanding a star ship. I ran my hands over the massive ship's wheel and lost myself in the daydream.

"Boss?" The deckhand interrupted my reverie. "Your guests have arrived."

I looked at the clock. The girls were an hour early. Damn. "Tell them I'll be right down and tell the Captain I'd like to see him." I realized Stephen wouldn't have much time to help me entertain my 'company' once we got underway, but he could help me babysit until we shoved off.

I could hear them squealing like twelve-year-olds as I descended toward the main level.
Oh God, let this be over soon,
I prayed. Phoebe and two clones were lounging on the sofas; their unnaturally even tans a sharp contrast to the ivory leather seats. Phoebe jumped up when she saw me and bounced over to give me a hug and the kiss-kiss thing I've always found utterly pretentious.

"Cuz! I want you to meet Shelby and Emery. Harley canceled at the last minute"

Not for the first time I wondered if Phoebe required all of her many girlfriends to have gender-neutral names ending in 'y'. It was the reason I had stopped trying to remember them.

"Ladies." I nodded my head at the two girls on the sofa. They were both stunning. They could have easily been models. I found myself foolishly hoping that one of them would open her mouth and say something remotely intelligent.

"Oooooh, Phebes, you weren't kidding about your gorgeous cousin! C'mon over here and sit between me and Shell. We luvvv to share!" She patted the cushion with a perfectly manicured hand and Shelby flashed me a snow white smile. God I hated black fingernail polish.

"Actually, I was just about to go see about lunch for us. Phoebe said you ladies would like something light? Like a salad?"

"As long as there's something delicious for dessert . . ." Shelby made her meaning crystal clear by giving the full length of my body a long salacious look. It looked like the girls were going to cut right to the chase. I knew I would need to handle this delicately.

Stephen joined us and I sent him into the kitchen to rustle up some wine and get Rene cracking on the salads. Given what I knew the afternoon might hold, I wasn't anxious to face her. She struck me as the kind of woman who wouldn't approve of the kind of ‘easy antics’ my newest guests so boldly alluded to. It made me want to avoid those warm knowing eyes.

We killed the first bottle of Orvieto before the salads arrived. Rene and Angelo both set the plates in front of the four of us. My little chef was as soft and natural as my lunch companions were harsh and artificial. I tried not to notice and failed. When she leaned over to place my plate, there was a rush of warmth as her body's aura intersected with mine.

The dishes were beautifully composed and absolutely delicious. My three guests gushed about how good the food was. I filed away their praises for a later conversation with Rene because I figured everyone likes to hear positive reviews. I knew all the right things to say to a South Beach beauty, but I already had a vision of being tongue tied trying to chat up someone whose world was so different from what I knew. Rene's range of interest obviously ran deeper than what happened that week on the latest reality TV show.

Stephen maneuvered the boat out of the slip and into the open ocean. I watched Pier 77 grow smaller to the west. El Loco was finally on her way.

"That wine and the Dramamine are taking their toll on me, dear cousin. I'm going to have to crash for a while. It doesn't help that I'm also hung-over from a tad too many apple-tinis last night." Phoebe pushed back from the table with a dramatic stretch and a yawn.

"Phoebe, the ocean is like glass today. Why the Dramamine?" I asked her.

"I get queasy in a swimming pool. I'm not taking any chances." She blew a kiss to the girls and me and went to find a bed.

Angelo began to clear the table and I asked him to bring another bottle of Orvieto up top to the swimming pool. "Find the plastic wine glasses, too." I looked at the twin lovelies at my sides. "We wouldn't want anyone's pretty feet cut up, now would we?"

They both giggled as if I was the wittiest man they'd ever met. I offered a crooked arm to each girl and guided them toward the stairs. "If you need to change into your suits  . . ."

Two sets of mischievous eyes twinkled at me. "Isn't your pool clothing optional, sugah?" Shelby asked me in a mock Southern drawl.

I welcomed the distraction from my distraction. I propelled them up the stairs with a little smack on both of their tight, gym-toned bottoms. "Sweethearts, the entire boat is clothing optional for you two."

Chapter 7—Rene

I had to admit that Dylan managed to snag a trio of fabulous babes for the ride to the Bahamas. Stephen had popped into the kitchen earlier in the morning and given me a head's up on the lunch plans so I was able to put together a masterful salad for the guests. The captain had told me that guests were rare on El Loco so I wanted to make it special.

Culinary school had taught me that with something as simple as a salad, presentation was everything. I was grateful for the knowledge. The women looked like they had probably had every permutation of greens under the sun. There sure wasn’t an ounce of fat sitting at that table. All four of the diners were perfect physical specimens.

Angelo and I finished cleaning up and I was off the hook for dinner. Dylan and his guests, captain and most of the other hands would be having dinner ashore on Paradise Island. There was plenty of time for me to throw a quick pasta dish together for myself and the skeleton crew that would stay on board.

After I changed out of my chef's togs, I propped myself up against my headboard and opened my reader to the book in progress. I wasn't able to concentrate on it, though. Above my head, I could hear the laughter and conversation only partially muffled by the porthole's glass. I tried to ignore it but it was impossible. There was way too much fun going on up there by the pool. My nerves stood at annoyed attention and my stomach gave an angry lurch at the thought of Dylan splashing around with the hotties up on deck.

Of course I knew I was being irrational. I had no claim on the man whatsoever. All the same, I couldn’t deny that I was attracted to him. If I was destined for another bad choice at least it could be a guy who made my core clutch at the sight of him. I wanted to pull that perfect mouth down to mine and run my tongue over those lupine teeth. Fantasy doesn't adhere to rules. My runaway mind was taking me places I’d never actually been.

Maybe he'd be the one to push me over the edge. Finally. Ever since I first had sex I'd always wondered what an actual man-induced orgasm would feel like. Nathan had assumed my failure to come with him was a direct result of some congenital deficiency and Jake blamed my horrible experience with Nathan for my lack of responsiveness. Neither of them really cared and I faked it often enough to fool them. Nathan was too selfish and Jake was simply too passive to concern himself with my satisfaction. My once-in-a-while performances kept my failure to get off from being an issue. Did they know I was faking it? I don’t think it really mattered.

Of course, I knew my equipment worked just fine. I lived over an 'adult store'. We got a lot of freebies. So, yes, the important parts of me knew what to do.

Another cooing sound drifted above my head. I had to peek. I knew I'd regret it but I couldn't resist torturing myself. I slid onto my knees and raised my head to the window. The people on deck probably couldn't have seen me spying on them. The windows were all so darkly tinted that the glare of the sun turned them into virtual mirrors. But I didn't want to get caught playing the peeping Tom so I parted the curtains just enough to barely see out.

You can't un-read a bad book or un-watch a bad movie. But oh how I wished I could un-see the sight that greeted me just outside my porthole. The two women were on the edge of the pool, kissing and fondling each other playfully, breaking free long enough to giggle down to their host below them in the water.

Dylan watched the two beauties cavorting in the sun. His wet sculpted back was just above the surface of the pool, dark curls dripping on the base of his neck. My hand tightened into a fist involuntarily. I could almost feel the slick strands between my fingers.

Suddenly he slipped under the water and out of my line of sight giving me a clear view of the girls who were back to making out with each other. The unbroken mellow tan of their smooth bodies was a sharp contrast to my pasty chef's skin. The only reason I didn't have tan lines was because I had absolutely no tan. I couldn't remember the last time I actually sunbathed.

"Dylan . . . it's your turn sweetie!"

"That's right darlin', double
your
pleasure now."

The two women splashed at him with long golden legs. He swam over to them, crossing the water in just a couple of strokes. When he hoisted himself up onto to edge of the pool, his arm muscles bulged with the effort. I wondered what it would be like to have those arms wrapped around my body. I was sure he could lift me off my feet effortlessly with his strength.

He twisted around and sat between the two women. I hadn't seen it in the dark the night before, but I noticed he had a small tattoo on the left side of his chest, above his heart. It was a subtle mark, just a fishhook over a perfectly sculpted pec. There wasn't a lot of ink involved; it reminded me more of a brand than anything. It was kind of romantic to think that he was branded by the sea.

I turned away. Couldn't. Watch. Him.

The kitchen wasn't much of a refuge. I could almost feel the heat radiating through my little room, seeping under the door and grabbing at me. Knowing he was out there with two gorgeous and enthusiastic playmates punched me in the gut and took my breath away.

I wandered through the salon and took an aimless ride on the elevator to the upper level.

Stephen was alone in the command center when I peered through the glass door and knocked lightly. He gave me a big grin and motioned for me to join him. I was determined to let him distract me. Imagining what was occupying Dylan at that moment had the potential to nauseate me.

The bridge was nothing like I had pictured. It looked almost like some sort of recording studio or security center. There were six or seven screens lined up in front of the wheel and half again as many gauges and other instruments. Stephen was seated in the huge leather captain's chair looking utterly relaxed. I flopped into one of the chairs beside him and sank into its comfort.

"Hope you don't mind some company."

"Of course not. Driving this barge across the channel is a little boring. Not much of a challenge 'til we get closer to the islands."

"It looks pretty challenging to my eyes." I rolled my eyes over the spaceship-worthy instrument panel.

"Just a bunch of toys, really. A real sailor should still be able to get from point A to point B without all this shit."

"Are you a 'real' sailor, Stephen?" I wanted to give him a chance to brag on himself and puff up a little for me. I was in the mood to flirt and God knows a man's ego is always a sure-fire way to start.

"I used to be, but this stuff has made me soft. I used to find a fish by instinct and nature. Now I've got a
state-of-the-art
fish finder to do that for me." The reply was disappointing. I was hoping for some chest beating. "But, all this auto pilot stuff means you and I can cruise along and get to know one another." He crossed his sinewy arms across his chest and gave me a look that would have been a leer on a less innocent face.

I smiled at him. He was easy to like. "Okay. I'll start. How did you happen to become the Captain of El Loco?"

He chuckled. "I guess you could say it was destiny. My Dad's a charter captain and I literally grew up on these docks."

"You mentioned that you and Dylan had been 'wharf rats' together."

"First name basis, already?"

"Not to his face," I blushed.

"Just wait until he asks you to call him by his first name. He can be prickly about things at times." He adjusted the wheel just slightly before he continued. "Yeah, Dylan showed up on the pier when he was around twelve or thirteen. He was a little bit of a nuisance at first. Followed me around like I was a big hero 'cause I'm two years older than he is."

"How old is that?"

"Just turned thirty. I'm a summer baby. That's why I have such a sunny disposition."

I had to agree with him. Everything about Stephen was light and easy. He had a way of smiling at me that made me feel very comfortable.

"Dylan was twenty-eight last February," he went on.

I tried to remember my sun signs. February was . . . Aquarius and Pisces. Not that I believed in astrology much, but it would make sense he’d have a water sign.

Stephen continued. "I went to junior college but academics aren't my thing. Not that I have a room temperature I.Q."

"Of course not.”

"It kind of surprised folks when I passed the Captain's exam on the first try. It's a beast. Most people have to take it twice or even three times. But I grew up breathing all that shit. It's just natural."

"Isn't this an awfully large boat to handle?

"Trust me, I started small. It was just a stroke of luck that Dylan's father decided to add this toy to his collection. He got a deal and that's something he can't resist. Once he had it, the thrill wore off. As usual, Dylan got his hand-me-downs."

"This is some hand-me-down."

"Dylan sought me out. We had stayed close even after he went off to school. When El Loco entered the picture he found me and hired me. He doesn't get close to people and he wanted someone around that he knew he could trust."

"Why doesn't he . . . get close to people?"

Stephen arched his pale eyebrows. "It's complicated. And you don't need to know. I don't even know Dylan's whole story. But I know he's got demons."

"I see.” Why did the ‘demons’ just make him that much more appealing? Sometimes I hate the way my mind works, I really do... “Well right now he's getting quite close to a couple of ladies in the pool."

"Really?”

I couldn’t read whether he was being sarcastic or not.  Of course, it was no surprise that beautiful women would flock to a man like Dylan. It was impossible not to think about those bodies all tangled up and sweating in the sun. Especially the one that belonged to Dylan. And how did it all work anyway? I had run through several creative combinations of body parts and positions before Stephen brought me back to the here and now.

"So, what's your story? I mean other than the retired professor parents and being a chef. Is your choice of career some kind of rebellion?"

"I wouldn't put it that way. I just realized I wanted something different than what was expected of me."

"And that was?"

"Well, I was always following a plan, but unfortunately it was somebody else’s plan . . . as in my parents’ plan. They had a lot of influence on me and by the time I gave myself permission to follow my heart, I was already on my way to having a ‘solid career’ doing something I found completely joyless.”

"Yikes."

"For sure, yikes. I up and did an abrupt-face on my life.  I went to culinary school because it called to me, I loved the idea of doing something creative that was so temporary."

"Now you're over my head."

"Think about it. Most art can be captured—you can look at a painting over and over or listen to music as many times as you want. A book can be re-read. But a meal can never be eaten in exactly the same way. Even if the cook and the ingredients and the prep are all identical, it's a new experience every time."

"That's a pretty heavy outlook on cooking."

"I tend to over think everything. Sorry."

"No, no. It's cool. I just never thought about it that way." He made a small adjustment on one of the panels. “So, you told me your ex-boss was a tyrant, right?”

“The worst part was that I let him lick the red off the candy of being a chef. I should have enjoyed Topanga more. But
I'm so glad that I found out early that my tolerance for abuse and a restaurant career are incompatible. It could have been an ugly life.”

“But the restaurant itself is like . . .”

I finished his sentence with a quote I’d read. “‘Jewel amongst jewels in the glittering South Florida restaurant scene’ is what the Sun-Sentinel called it. I was dazzled by my good fortune when I landed that job.”

What I didn’t add was that I was dazzled even more by the incredibly hot executive chef who hired my humble and inexperienced self to man one of his precious line stations. I had visions of having my way with him over potato sacks in the pantry within days of being hired.

It had taken all of two months to realize what a total egomaniac I was working for, but sadly almost two years to actually do something about it. Coming into the kitchen at a later age than my peers, I needed all the experience I could get — not to mention this was
Topanga
. One didn’t walk away from a place like that. When dread outweighed ‘stick-to-itiveness’, I submitted my resume and newly acquired maritime certification to the offices of "Crew Unlimited".

“I take it the dazzle wore off?” Stephen asked.

“Ever watched 'Hell's Kitchen'?" He nodded. "Well, the executive chef liked to believe he was Gordon Ramsey."

“I see. Sounds rough.”

“I figured that there are other ways to be a chef than toiling for a petty tyrant. I decided to go for a job on a cruise ship. You know: join the navy, see the world.”

“I have to agree that being on the water has a certain appeal,” Stephen agreed. “You’re lucky you didn’t land a cruise ship job, though. They can be real old fashioned sweat shops when it comes to the working stiffs. The passengers don't ever see that, of course.”