Below Deck

by Tara Sivec

  “A cheeseburger and french fries?” I ask in shock, staring at the half-eaten burger and only a few fries left on the plate in front of her. “You wanted a cheeseburger and fries instead of lobster and filet?”

  She huffs at me in irritation and mirrors my pose, crossing her arms in front of her. Which just pushes that spectacular cleavage up even more in the sinful dress she’s wearing, and my mouth waters with the need to run my tongue over the soft mounds.

  “Yes, why is that so hard to believe? When I was little, my dad and I had this thing we’d do where we always ordered a cheeseburger and fries everywhere we went and make a list of the places that had the absolute best so we knew which places we wanted to go back to,” she explains, a soft wistfulness taking over her face and replacing her frustration with my attitude.

  I overheard her and her dad talking about something like this last night night after dinner, but I was doing my best to pretend like Mackenzie wasn’t there and didn’t hear all of their conversation.

  “So, who was at the top of the list?” I ask, against my better judgment.

  I don’t want to know these “normal” things about her. She needs to remain out of reach and out of my league, not turn into a regular, everyday cheeseburger and french fry loving woman.

  She smiles at me, and God dammit, if it doesn’t light up this entire fucking room and make my heart beat double time.

  “Well, it used to be this little diner in Pennsylvania, but I’m pretty sure Marcel has them beat.”

  Marcel, the little fucker, has the nerve to blush and smile and says something to her all sweet and soft in French. She looks away from me to return his smile, and there she goes again, speaking a few little words in that foreign language that makes my dick want to jump right out of my pants and into her gorgeous mouth.

  I want to tell Marcel to go the fuck away so I can close the distance between us, lift her up and slam her ass down on the counter. I want to be alone with her so I can push between those gorgeous thighs of hers and ease some of this pain in my balls.

  But I can’t do that. And it just pisses me off.

  “You need to go back up to the guest quarters where you belong, before you get that fancy dress stained. I’m sure it cost more than what I make in a year, and I really don’t feel like giving up half my paycheck to have it cleaned for you.”

  Silence. Complete silence fills the room and, once again, I want to take back the shitty thing I just said, but it’s too late now.

  I watch as she keeps the smile on her face while she turns to Marcel and asks him if she can take the plate up to her room so she can finish her dinner there. He nods quickly, picking it up and handing it to her before she leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

  I keep watching, unable to move or say a word when she walks around the counter, her body brushing against mine when she moves through the small doorway to the stairs that lead back up to the guest area. The smell of coconut coming from her skin is so delicious that I have to bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from leaning down and licking her bare shoulder, which I’m sure would earn me a smack across the face after the way I just spoke to her.

  “For your information,” Mackenzie suddenly says from behind me, making me turn my head and look back over my shoulder at her while she glares at me, clutching the plate so tightly in both hands that her knuckles are white. “This dress cost $19.99 and it was from Target.”

  She turns and begins walking up the stairs, but not before shouting one last thing over her shoulder.

  “Baise juste à côté!”

  Marcel laughs loudly, and I stare at her ass as she stomps up the stairs, waiting until she disappears from sight before I turn back to him with a questioning look on my face.

  For the first time in the four years I’ve known the man, he speaks to me in accented English.

  “She just told you to fuck right off. I really, really like her.”

  Moving through the galley to the opposite side of the room from where Mackenzie just exited, I give Marcel the finger when I pass him and head to my bunk.

  “Oh, shut the hell up.”

  Marcel’s laughter follows me all the way down the hall.

  CHAPTER 8

  Mackenzie

  “Can you believe the nerve of him? I mean, honestly. He avoids me all day and then has a stick up his ass because I was down in his precious crew area. It’s not like I care, but he didn’t need to act like such an asshole,” I complain to Brooke as we lay our towels down on the soft white sand of Trunk Bay Beach to relax and get some sun before it’s time to head back to the boat.

  We were supposed to leave this morning to cruise around the islands for a few days before we made our final stop at St. Croix, but Allyson and Arianna decided they hadn’t done nearly enough shopping last night, and had my dad tell the captain to keep us at St. John for another day. I was pissed at first when I found out my dad jumped to do their bidding and didn’t care that it would require more work and more planning for the captain and crew, but when I realized I wouldn’t have to be stuck on the boat for another damn day where I might run into Declan, I jumped at the chance to get the hell away from him.

  Sure, I stupidly stayed behind last night. And while it’s true I did nothing more than push my food around my plate at dinner, and my stomach was threatening to eat itself by the time everyone left to come over here, I didn’t stay behind just to have Marcel make me the most delicious cheeseburger and french fries I’d ever eaten. I stayed behind because, like an idiot, I listened to Brooke when she suggested I make up an excuse not to go with everyone so I could find Declan and make him stop avoiding me.

  I never imagined that when I finally found him, or actually, when he finally found me, that he’d treat me the way he did and talk to me like he had. And to make matters worse, he did it in front of Marcel, who had been so sweet to make me an extra dinner and let me practice my high school French that I’d had no use for since I’d graduated.

  It took everything in me not to smack Declan across the face when he made the comment about getting my dress dirty. So much for thinking it would be easy for me to show him I’m not a spoiled princess like Arianna and Allyson. It’s obvious that’s all he sees when he looks at me, and I wasted my time thinking I could prove him wrong. I wasted my time thinking maybe he, too, couldn’t stop remembering that kiss we shared, wondering if he wanted me just as much as I wanted him. I should have stuck to my guns. I never have been, nor will I ever be, the kind of woman who can have a fling. Especially with a man who clearly hates my guts and isn’t affected by me in the least.

  “Yes, you’ve told me. At least seventy-five times since lunch,” Brooke deadpans, replying to my earlier complaints as she pulls off her cover-up and flops down on her towel.

  “Sorry, am I getting on your nerves? Just tell me to shut the hell up,” I apologize, lying down next to her and perching myself up my elbows to look out at the crystal clear water stretched out in front of us, our yacht visible in the distance.

  “Shut the hell up,” Brooke mutters, covering her eyes from the sun to look up at me. “At least shut up about the whole not caring thing. You wouldn’t be bitching about it all day if you didn’t care. You’re hot for the guy, he kissed you and made you see stars, and now you’re pissed he was a jerk. I’m pissed too. I kind of want to chop off his balls when we get back on the boat, but I’ll leave that up to you. It will make you feel better.”

  Just like always, Brooke makes me laugh and forget my problems for a minute.

  “Just let me enjoy my anger for a little while longer and I promise I’ll stop complaining. Right now, it feels better to be pissed off than sad,” I tell her, flipping over onto my stomach to rest my chin on my arms.

  “I’m sorry your dad didn’t come with us today,” Brooke says softly as I scoop up a handful of sand and watch it run through my fingers.

  “It was stupid of me to even ask. I knew he’d pick them over me.”

  Not on
ly have I felt like a fool all day for the way Declan spoke to me in front of Marcel, and how easily he dismissed me, I wanted to kick myself for letting down my guard and telling him about the road trips my dad and I used to take in search of the perfect burger and fries. Even though I regret showing him a piece of me that he didn’t deserve, at least it gave me the courage to ask my dad to spend the day with me today when we were eating breakfast. I wanted him to miss spending time with me as much as I missed being with him. When I told him about how Brooke and I planned on renting bikes to ride around the small nine-mile island to see the sights, his eyes lit up and for just one minute, I thought he’d quickly agree.

  But just like always, Allyson complained that she couldn’t possibly shop without my father’s opinion on her purchases, and Arianna wrapped her arms around his neck, called him daddy and told him she was looking forward to spending the whole day with him.

  They didn’t value his opinion, and they didn’t want to spend quality time with him. The only thing they wanted was the Gold Amex in his wallet.

  “Alright, no more feeling sorry for yourself. We’re still on vacation and we’re going to have a good time, dammit,” Brooke suddenly announces.

  I watch as she sits up and digs into the backpack she brought with her, pulling out two flasks. She hands me one and takes the lid off of the other before tipping it back and taking a healthy swallow. When she pulls it away from her mouth, she clunks her flask against mine and gives me a smile.

  “Bottoms up, baby!” she cheers, reaching down and tipping my flask up to my mouth, forcing me to take a drink.

  The rum Brooke packed burns a path down my throat, and I have to pull the flask away to cough a few times while she pats me on the back.

  “That’s top shelf rum Ben stole for me! They keep it locked up for guests. No one chokes on top shelf rum!” she chastises.

  I shake my head at her with a smile and take another smaller sip, the burn lessening with each swallow I drink. Brooke nods her head in approval and clinks our flasks together again.

  “Let’s get drunk and screw. I mean, let’s get drunk and come up with a way to make Declan feel like an asshole and grovel at your feet, so you can forgive him and then eventually screw him,” she laughs.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her that’s NEVER going to happen. There is nothing he could say to me that would make me forgive him.

  “All I can think about is that Goddamn kiss. Every time I close my eyes I can taste you and smell you and feel you against me, and it’s driving me fucking insane.”

  What was I saying earlier about how there’s nothing Declan could say to make me forgive him?

  When Ben and Eddie picked us up from St. John and took us back to the ship, after yet another uncomfortable dinner where Allyson and Arianna occupied my dad’s entire focus and talked about nothing but how much money they’d spent all day, I locked myself in mine and Brooke’s room to take a shower and try to purge some of the rum from my pores. Still buzzed after my shower and finding a note on the bed from Brooke saying she went to find Ben, I threw on my pajamas of a tank top and a little pair of cotton shorts and attempted to sleep off all the rum I’d consumed.

  With my head full of booze and an irritating man I couldn’t get out of my thoughts no matter how hard I tried, I gave up trying to sleep and went for a walk around the ship. I should have known he’d find me just like he had the other night, but I assumed he’d be working ten times harder to avoid me after what happened in the kitchen the night before.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Declan asks in a low voice, my hands clenching tighter around the railing when I feel him move closer to me, the heat from his body practically burning a hole into my back.

  “I heard you. And I don’t care,” I reply flippantly, finally turning around to face him and regretting it immediately.

  I thought seeing Declan in his white polo shirt and khaki cargo shorts was off the charts hot, but nothing compares to him standing here in front of me in a pair of well-worn jeans that hang low on his hips and a tight, faded red t-shirt with the words “St. Thomas” written in script across his wide, sculpted chest.

  He has both hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, pulling them down so low that I can see the white stripe of his boxer briefs that say “Calvin Klein” printed across it.

  His eyes stare down at me, unblinking, and a muscle ticks in his jaw while he waits for me to say something else. Or maybe he’s trying to think of a reply to me telling him I don’t give a shit that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss. Whatever he’s doing, I don’t care. I also don’t care that the muscles of his arms are flexing, and I can tell he must be clenching his hands in his pockets. Nor do I care that his spiky hair is even more messy and looks like he’s been running his hands through it for hours out of irritation.

  I also don’t care that he’s standing so close I can smell his stupid soap and his stupid spicy cologne. When he lets out a slow, frustrated breath, I can smell his minty toothpaste, and I want to stick my tongue in his mouth and lick it off his teeth.

  Jesus God, what is wrong with me?

  “Turn around,” he suddenly orders.

  I look away from his throat, getting momentarily distracted by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed, and stare up at him in confusion.

  “Excuse me?”

  He closes the few inches of distance between us until he’s in my space, crowding me and making it hard for me to breathe. He slowly pulls his hands out of his pockets and I hold my breath, wondering if he’s going to put them on me.

  Instead, he leans towards me and rests his hands on either side of me on the railing, caging me in.

  “I said, turn around. I can’t say what I need to say when you’re looking at me like that,” he tells me, his voice going lower, deeper, and flipping a switch between my legs that feels like a bolt of electricity just hit me.

  “Looking at you like what?” I whisper, forcing myself not to grab onto handfuls of his shirt and drag his mouth down to mine.

  “Like you can’t keep your hands off me,” he replies, the corner of his mouth tipping up in a smirk, exchanging my lust for the need to bring my knee up between his legs, even if what he said IS true.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve. I can’t believe you—”

  “Mackenzie! Just turn the fuck around…please.” He cuts me off.

  I would have ignored him and continued telling him where he could shove his orders, but there was something about the way he said please, so guttural and needy, that my body reacted without thinking.

  Wetting my lips with my tongue to get rid of the dryness that occurred, not only from hearing the way he said please, but also hearing him say my name as well, he lets out a low groan as his eyes track the movement of my tongue before I slowly turn away from him.

  I see his hands tighten on the railing on either side of me as I take my time, my shoulder sliding against his chest and my hip grazing across the hardness in his jeans as I turn back around to face the dark ocean stretched out beyond us. It makes me feel good that I have this effect on him when I thought he was immune to me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand here all night taking his orders. He’s got five seconds to explain himself or I’m ducking out from under his arms and going back to my room.

  Once again, he closes what little distance there was between us until his chest is flush with my back and I can feel his cock through his jeans, nestled right against my ass. He bends his head down to the side of my face, nuzzling his nose against my cheek and using it to push my hair away until his lips are right by my ear.

  “All I can think about is that Goddamn kiss. Every time I close my eyes I can taste you, and smell you, and feel you against me, and it’s driving me fucking insane.”

  He repeats the same words he said to me when he first came out here and found me standing in the same position just moments ago, but this time he whispers them and his warm breath skates over m
y ear, making me break out in goosebumps.

  “W-what’s your point?” I stutter, trying to make my voice sound strong and clear, like the way his lips are just barely touching my earlobe isn’t driving me completely insane.

  “My point, Mackenzie, is that I can’t kiss you again. I can’t touch you again. I can’t taste you again. You’re a guest; I’m on the crew. I can’t cross that line with you and it’s fucking killing me,” he whispers into my ear, his hips jerking forward and his cock digging deeper into my ass, letting me know just how much it’s really killing him.

  It’s not the apology I had been hoping for, but the need in his voice and the whites of his knuckles holding onto the railing, keeping me caged in, prove that it’s taking all of his strength not to kiss me, not to touch me, and not to taste me. Maybe I’m a pathetic, weak woman, but I don’t need an apology anymore. He just admitted why he acted the way he did without coming right out and saying the words. Obviously there are rules about guests and crew members hooking up, and he’s having a really hard time wanting to break those rules. He acted like an asshole last night because it probably pissed him off that I made him want to cross the line and he didn’t know how to handle it.

  I can work with that. I can forgive his asshole behavior for something like that, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to let him off easy. He’s still rubbing his cock against me and breathing in my ear. I’m surrounded by him and his smell, and I’m so wet right now I’d probably come faster than I ever have in my life if he broke his stupid rules and touched me.

  “So, let’s pretend,” I whisper, craning my neck around until he has to pull his mouth away from my ear so he can look down at my face.

  I push myself up on my toes until my mouth is right by his and our lips are just barely touching, his eyes darkening as they stare down at me.

  “Let’s pretend I’m not a guest, and you’re not on the crew. We’re just two people who happen to be on the same boat,” I speak softly against his mouth. “What would you do to me then?”