Tempest Tossed: A Love Unexpected Novel (9 page)

Chapter 13—Rene

I
was
being cold. Downright bitchy, really. He made me nervous. No, that's a lie. He terrified me because of the way I felt when I was near him. Every fiber of me strained to connect and intertwine with him and every brain cell in my head screamed:
Don't DO IT
! There was a war going on inside me. When he was near me, I wanted the animal, the wild throw-caution-to-the-wind side to win. When he was out of sight, the rational me fought back, inch by inch.

I tried to put him in the Narcissistic Chef box; the box where I kept my mistakes. He could go right in there with the chef and Nathan. I had another place for poor Jake. He was the only occupant of my
not terrible
mistake box.

But the fantasies wouldn't leave me alone. Even though I hadn’t had a
guy
in quite some time I took care of myself. Of course I did. I'd lived over a porn shop for two years. They had more instruments to make private parts sing that I had ever known existed. Plus, the owners loved us. We got most of our toys as gifts. It was a bonus for them that two young women paraded up and down the side stairs of their store. Worth a few hundred bucks in freebies just to give the customers some eye candy. Not that I considered myself such. But Hannah, for sure. Me . . . I was young and slim. Maybe that was enough to make the single bucks think the place was all that.

But with a man? Never. Not once. I don't even think I came close. Maybe I was one of those women who had to be in
love
to experience orgasm with a man. I wouldn't know until either I'd had casual sex that rocked my world or fell in
love
and had sex that rocked my world.

Was I curious? Damn right I was. I didn't want to enter my thirties without experiencing what it felt like to crash into someone in that mighty moment of pleasure and release. I wasn't setting any particular emotion as a pre-requisite, either. Lust would do as long as it eventually resulted in me coming in a mind-blowing flash of the little death.

I sighed out loud and Lady D. gave a sympathetic little cluck in my ear. I found the vanilla wafers and her interest turned instantly from me to the unopened box. She started clucking and squealing as I walked through the kitchen and got the scissors. The second I gave her the cookie she jumped up on one of the pot racks and started to eat it.

"You've got quite the life, don't you? You're a spoiled little girl that's for damn sure." I could tell that until the last crumb was gone I was getting no more of her attention so I put all my prep work away and sat down on one of the stools to wait for her descent. Dylan was right; I had little to do other than putter around wasting time all afternoon.

I entertained Lady D. with some measuring spoons and decided I would try to enjoy an afternoon swim on deck with my incredibly edible boss. That's the way I thought of him. Starting with the warm mouth that just asked to be nipped and pulled into my mouth, past the hook tattoo on his delectable chest, down the trail fur to what lay beneath. The imagined deliciousness of all his parts was unreal.

"Uhmm, uhmm," I said out loud at the mental image. I dangled the spoons in front of the monkey's grasping hands. "Did you get to have wild monkey sex before they took your wild monkey parts, Lady D? I'd like to try that sometime."

"Did you have anyone particular in mind?" Dylan asked.

He had once again padded into the kitchen on those weirdly sexy bare feet. So many men have such ugly feet. His could have been on a Reef ad for high dollar flip-flops. I realized I had developed a habit of mocking up advertisements featuring Dylan. Maybe I'd do a collage someday. "You know, you've got a terrible habit of sneaking up on me. I wasn't talking to you." How embarrassing. I had to hand it to Dylan, he'd given me more reasons to want to crawl under the nearest rock than anyone I'd ever met, including Chef Asshole.

"Lady D. never had the pleasure. She was spayed before she had the chance, poor thing."

"It might be a blessing for her."

"I feel sorry for her. She's got no one of her own kind to play with."

"Can't you get her a friend?"

"Too late for that, I'm afraid. So, what about it? Who's going to join you for this simian sexcapade?"

"I was just babbling." I hoped it sounded casual enough to be convincing. I very much had someone in mind. Him. "I haven't had a lot of experience entertaining a monkey."

"But you do it so well." He tapped his shoulder and Lady D. jumped up to her perch.

"Thanks. I guess."

"See you on the foredeck at two." And he was gone.

***

The sun started to move behind us as we headed east. By the time I got up to the pool deck, there was a sliver of shade for me to hide my pale body in. My bikini was nearly brand new. I hadn't had many chances to use it since I bought it over a year before.

Dylan was already in the pool. He was sitting on one of the underwater ledges, long legs extended way into the center of the small pool. To my utter horror, he had ditched the board shorts and wore a European style bikini. In South Florida only gay men and foreign tourists appeared in public in one of those things. 'Course it wasn't South Florida. Maybe being so far out to sea qualified him as a foreign tourist anyway. I tried not to look at the pouch under the water. I think the reason most women can't take Speedos is that it's impossible
not
to look.

He watched me wordlessly as I positioned a deck chair under in the only available shadow.

My bathing suit is pretty modest compared to many, but I was so conscious of the state of my body that I felt more naked than not; being with him and all his flesh seemed way more intimate than innocent.

I pulled a tube of sunscreen out of the bag I'd brought with me and started rubbing it on my legs.

"You'll have to tell me what kind of stuff you're using there. It has to be pretty potent to keep you that white."

I laughed. "I haven't been to the beach during the day time for more than a year."

"But the cream is new, right?"

"Uh, no. I can't remember when I bought it. Couple years ago."

Dylan quickly got out of the water and picked up a big bottle from the poolside table. "You're going to fry like a piece of baitfish in the sun, then. Sunscreen has a short shelf life."

"I didn't know that," I said as I put up my hand to take the bottle.

He moved it away from my reach. "Uh-uh. My sunscreen. I get to put it on you."

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Oh, please. Lighten up, would ya? It's just some suntan lotion."

But it's in
your
hands,
I thought as I reluctantly rolled onto my stomach. At least I wouldn't have to look at his incredible face for most of the process.

He nudged me over to make room to sit on the edge of my lounge chair. His hip rested against mine. Every time he had been close enough to touch me I felt like a compass and every direction was his mark. I didn't know this territory. It didn't feel or look like anything I'd ever experienced before.

I heard him rub his hands together briefly and then they were on my back. He slid his palms over the small of my back, spreading the sunscreen out in both directions from my spine. Gentle fingers massaged the cream into my skin.

"This stuff is amazing," he told me casually. Evidently he couldn't see that my very cells were melting under his touch, torched with the atomic blast of his attention. "You'll never burn with this, but eventually, you'll tan a little bit. Just a little healthy bit."

I turned toward the knee resting at one side of my head. Time to say something—anything—nonchalant. "You've sure got a healthy tan."

"Yeah," he agreed as he began the top half of my back, "it makes me feel good. I spent a lot of years looking as ghostly as you do. But not by choice."

"Were you in prison?" I wanted to make a joke, even a lame one. His hands were doing things to me. I was ready to roll over, jerk that sorry excuse for a bathing suit off his body and have him just the way my overheated brain wanted him..

"You could say that." The tone of his answer cooled me down a few degrees. He'd said something important. He'd said it into my back and I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew all the same that there was a clue there. I rolled over and looked at him.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I was pretty much locked up for a lot of my childhood. It's a long and complicated story."

"I've got a lot of time on my hands right now." He avoided my gaze and went to work on my legs.

"Maybe another time."

Curiosity was eating me alive but I kept quiet. There are times to push and times to back off. I didn’t always know the differences but this time, thankfully, I did.

He worked the lotion into my thighs. The sun had to be getting jealous of the radiation coming from me. I shifted up to my elbows and watched him linger just a few more seconds on the sensitive flesh of my upper thighs. Then his hands moved down the length of my legs, carefully covering every inch of each one.

"You get a double dose of rays when you're out at sea. The water reflects them back at you so it's really important to protect every little bit."

He took my left foot in his slippery hands and started to massage it with his slick hands.
Oh God,
I thought
, not the feet.
  My feet have always been one of my secret erogenous zones. Not that any man had ever known that. I just knew how good it felt when a good beautician gave me a real foot massage. Connected to a pair of hot male hands, the tootsies nearly made me come unglued. A small groan of pleasure escaped, I couldn't hold it back.

"Sensitive feet?"

I gave him a mute and sheepish nod.

"Mine are too." Then he smiled at me, all impish and child-like, as if he'd made a great secret confession. It made me laugh out loud and move a little bit closer to jumping off the edge. Abruptly he slid off of the chaise and into the water. When he surfaced he turned toward me, arms over the edge of the pool. "Sorry, I had to get in. I was . . . overheating."

If that was code for getting a hard-on I didn't want to know. I was losing the logic war fast. The battle could have easily been won at the toes.

Chapter 14—Dylan

I had to get in the water fast. It needed to be a lot colder than it was to do the job, though. I leaned up against the side and kept my promise to myself. I was not going to pressure her. I was not going to push.
Down boy, down
!

Talk to her. Talk. To. Her
. Pretending she was someone other than who she was struck me as a grand idea. She could be a guy or someone's mother in my head. I fought to think of what I might say to a person who wasn't Rene. Small talk is what I was after. Small talk would magically make
me
small where I desperately needed to be. I couldn't risk having her see me practically busting a hole in my swimsuit. I made a note to self: mankini = bad, bad, bad idea.

I cleared my throat and threw up the first thing that came to mind after 'what do you do?'  'Cause I already knew what she did.

"Did you grow up in Ft. Lauderdale?"  She was sitting up rubbing the sunscreen into her arms, finishing the job I started.

"Boca."

"That's right, I forgot FAU was in Boca." I'd forgotten just about everything at that moment in time. I tried a slightly more open-ended question next. "So, how was life in South Florida?"

"Fine, I guess. I can’t complain. My parents were great, but . . ."

I could see that she was struggling to find the right words. "But?"

"I hate to sound ungrateful. My parents loved me—love me—a lot. But I'm an only child. I have a couple of PhD. parents. Sometimes my childhood felt like one long seminar. I used to hate being an only child. Other people had siblings to share all that attention."

"Yeah. I understand. I would have been lost without my sister."

"Dawn?"

Having Rene say my sister's name startled me. I must have looked shocked.

"I Googled you. That first night. I couldn't sleep after our little encounter in the ki—galley. “ She smiled. “See? I am trying to use the right ‘nautical’ words.”

"And you’re doing so well at it! I never apologized to you for that shock in the galley. What a way to start your job, huh?"

"It was unique, for sure."

"Well, I am sorry."

"It's okay. It's your boat . . . your home. Hannah and I never bothered to put clothes on to get a drink from the fridge in the middle of the night."

"Hannah?"

"My roommate in Lauderdale."

"I've never lived with anyone. I think I'd be difficult."

"The best roommates are opposites, I think. At least that's what I think makes Hannah and I work."

"What's she like?" I figured if Rene thought of Hannah as her opposite, I could get a pretty good idea of what Rene thought of herself. I considered that important information.

"First of all, she's drop dead gorgeous."

Doesn't consider herself gorgeous
. I noted this without surprise. It was easy for me to tell when a woman thought of herself as a real beauty. There were plenty of clues. Rene gave off none of them. It made her that much more desirable, that much more beautiful. Rene’s beauty wasn’t the head turning kind. It was the kind that tiptoed up on cat’s paws and took your breath away.

"She's very practical and calm."

Thinks of herself as impractical and anxious
. Not as expected. I'd noticed a little nervousness, but then again I kept walking in on her and surprising the bejezuss out of her. But the impracticality? The most impractical thing in the world would have been for her to kiss me back when I came on to her on the sea deck. Instead, she did the 'logical' thing and pushed me away.

"She's very grounded. She knows what she wants."

Confused
. That was interesting. My impression was that Rene knew precisely what she wanted and went for it.

"And she's got a great sense of humor."

That one really threw me. From what I'd seen so far, Rene seemed to have a fine sense of humor. When she wasn't being an ice princess, that is.

"How long were you roommates?" I prompted.

"We're still technically roommates. On what I'm being paid, I can afford to keep my half of the apartment."

"How much is that?"

She looked at me in shock. "You mean you don't actually know what you're paying me?"

"No, because I'm not the one paying you. I explained all that to you before."

"I didn't really believe it."

"Well, believe it." I sucked in some air. I was about to take a chance I'd never taken. I was going to try to win points with a woman by blowing her away with how much I
didn't
have. "If you Googled me you know about my father. He's one rich SOB. But he's made it his mission in life to see that I have just enough of his fortune not to embarrass him. I take care of this boat and he gives me enough to get by. I own nothing. I control nothing."

Her mute response told me I had gotten my point across. I was a vastly different person than the one she wanted to distance herself from. Granted I hardly clawed my way up from the projects but I didn’t think that was the kind of background that would appeal to her either.

"I may well inherit a fortune, but don't get any ideas. My father is a robust seventy-one years old. And the Cruz family is known for the longevity of its members. My grandfather only recently died.  He was well into his nineties. So you see," I smugly concluded, "you were wrong about me."

"Only partially. You're not rich . . ."

"And I'm not a spoiled brat! Believe it or not this boat is a lot of work."

"It is, but you don't do the work. Even I know that if you were managing the operation you'd know what your people got paid."

"That's not fair. My father has an accountant for that." Then I remembered more of what she'd said. The bit about not accomplishing anything. "You're right, though. I'm a glorified caretaker. It isn't much of an accomplishment."

"Why don't you get a job?"

"Because I don’t hate my life enough. I hate it just enough to hold myself in contempt, but not enough to do something about it. I think that's exactly what Jackson Cruz intends."

"Why would your father want that?"

"Because deep down inside he hopes I . . . he wishes I . . ."

"What, Dylan? What does your father want?"

"He wants to know I'm not my mother's son." It slipped out quietly. I hadn't intended to take it this far; hadn't intended to reveal that much of the crazy that made me who I was. "They had issues," I added lightly. "But that's way too much darkness for this sunny day."

She smiled a little confused smile, but thankfully she didn't pry. I pushed myself off the side and glided to a recessed cooler at the pool’s edge. There was a chilled bottle of Chardonnay waiting for us.

"Wine?" I asked as I held up the bottle.

To my surprise, she didn’t crab about having to do dinner or anything like that. She slipped into the water and swam up beside me. "Sure, that sounds perfect." She seemed to understand a barrier had been breached but she also had the good sense not to press the edges of the envelope just then.

We killed the bottle of wine quickly and started on another. Rene sat next to me on the underwater seat, our nearly naked bodies simmering in the tepid water.

I managed to turn the conversation toward her life. She told me about the high school years. Those painful, awkward, find-yourself-years when she felt her intellect was tattooed on her forehead for all to see.

"I don't know how it was where you went to high school, but in my neck of the woods there was nothing cool about being smart or making good grades."

There would be time later to tell her that I was virtually cloistered in a tiny prep school for those all-important years. It was my turn to listen.

"I know I let my parents down. They try so hard not to express their disappointment in my choice to become a chef, but it's there, all the same.  They wanted me to walk in their footsteps, pursue higher levels of education . . . and they wound up with a friggin' cook. And I couldn't even manage to succeed at that."

"What makes you think you aren't successful?"

"The least I could have done for them is turn out to be a modern-day Alice Waters or at least a household name like Rachel Ray."

"Good God, you're only twenty-five years old . . ."

"Almost twenty-six," she amended.

"How almost?"

"I turn twenty-six on Thursday."

"Your birthday in three days? We'll have a party!" I poured two more glasses of wine from a fresh bottle and clinked my glass against hers. "To your almost being twenty-six."

She smiled up at me and moved just close enough to me for me to feel the barest brush of her flesh against mine. A mellow wave of desire washed over me as we let the next hour or so burn over us with the afternoon. It was no longer about having her. It was about doing it right.

***

By the time Thursday rolled around I was wound as tight as a line with a three hundred pound tuna at the end of it. For three days we'd met at the pool in the shank of the afternoon. For three days I'd played it cool and she'd played it cautious. The tension between us needed release.

It was an entirely new feeling for me. I couldn't actually recall a time when I had tried to
woo
a girl. I had learned, in our trio of taut afternoons, how she'd been burned and what scars had been left behind. I learned a lot about why she had that big fat streak of distrust in her. She told me that she thought her life had crippled her in intimate ways. It wasn't hard to pull it out of her. She'd been waiting all her young life just to have some guy give her the time to tell her tale. No woman has ever asked me to really listen to her. Not to the real story, warts and all. I found out I had a talent for it.