He raises his eyebrows and takes a step away from me.
“Are you surprised?” I ask.
“Yes, to tell you the truth I am. Pleasantly.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“It’s pretty obscure,” he says with a pronounced shrug.
I fold my arms across my chest and raise my chin in the air in defiance.
“Did you bring it up to teach me a lesson?” I ask. “Maybe make me feel bad, or stupid even?”
He shakes his head. When I look into his eyes, I can’t look away. There's something in them that pulls me in, even convincing me that he didn’t mean it that way at all. It was a genuine attempt to make a connection.
“While they are on their date, the Bible salesman persuades her to go up in the loft and to take off her prosthetic leg,” he says. His words come out smoothly, naturally even. “He then shows her the inside of one of his Bibles that contains a bottle of whiskey, condoms, and cards with naked women on them.”
“When she says no to his advance,” I finish the story for him, “the Bible salesman tells her that he collects fake legs and takes off with hers.”
“What do you like about the story?” he asks.
"Who said that I liked it?” I ask him.
He smiles.
“You have to.”
“I have to?” I ask.
“You know it so intimately and innately that they must've made an imprint on your soul,” he says.
I gaze into his eyes. I have lived for twenty-five years and not once have I ever spoken with another human being about the existence of a soul. Yet here is a stranger, a simple worker on my father's yacht, who speaks of it as if it's second nature, as if it's as real as gravity.
“I think what I like about it, and what I like about Flannery O'Connor's work in general is her sense of irony,” I say. “It's comedic. The title of the story is Good Country People, and that's exactly what her mother thinks the Bible salesman is. And yet he is the furthest thing from that. And even she, with her advanced degree, is someone who should know better, but she doesn’t. It’s almost funny. But then again, my own mother thinks I have a perverse sense of humor.”
“I think we might have that in common,” he says.
Our voices die down and all we are left with is a sweet silence that is both comforting and comfortable. I want to stay in this moment forever but we are quickly interrupted.
“Hey, you missed one hell of a lunch! Did you get some of that alone time you wanted?” Ellis Holte asks. She plops down on the lounger next to me and asks the guy who I've been talking to for a refill of her drink.
“No, he doesn't do that,” I interject. But he just shrugs his shoulders and says he will get it for her anyway.
“Are you seriously at this point, already?” she asks.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I'm talking about,” she says, pointing to her index finger adorned with a three-carat diamond ring in my face. It’s not an engagement ring, it’s a just because ring. “Are you already messing around with the help? I thought we would only be doing that when we are seven years into boring marriages, not while we are still single.”
"I'm not messing around with anyone," I say sternly.
I don't even know his name I note to myself. I run my tongue over my lower lip and repress the desire to talk to him again. Why do I even care?
Why am I so interested all of a sudden?
He is one of the only people that, no correct that, he is the only person who I have met who hasn't bored me. I couldn’t predict anything that was going to come out of his mouth and I want more of that.
Unfortunately, I don't see him again until later that night. His boss is watching his every move to make sure that he is doing a good job cleaning all of the decks of my father's boat. Of course, I could go up and talk to him myself, but I'm not quite ready to go that far out of my comfort zone.
After spending the whole day drinking, talking, and reading magazines, the girls are ready to shower, do their hair, and go out for a night on the town. Begrudgingly, I go through the motions as well. I finish before the rest and take a circle around the yacht, hoping to run into him again.
Him. The guy whose name I don’t even know.
Though I don't see him, I do see the manager. Mr. Madsen is in his sixties and has worked on my father's boat, overseeing all personnel, for as long as I can remember.
“Mr. Madsen, do you happen to know where I can find the guy who was cleaning the decks earlier today?” I ask as casually as possible.
If he wants to give me a knowing smile, he doesn't. Mr. Madsen is the epitome of professionalism.
“We had a few people working that position today. Henry Asher, Tom Cedar, and Elliot Dickinson.”
“Um, he was about six feet tall with broad shoulders and thick dark hair.”
“Oh, yes, you're referring to Henry Asher. He is probably downstairs in the crew quarters.”
“Thank you very much,” I say, going straight to the staircase.
Appalled, Mr. Madsen rushes over to me and blocks my way.
“I will, of course, get him to come upstairs to see you, Miss Tate,” he says quickly. “If you don't mind waiting in the living room.”
I don't really want to wait, but I decide to go along with it. The guests are not supposed to go down to the crew quarters. It has been that way since the beginning of time. Besides, I don't really want my friends to see me going down there anyway.
Before I have the chance to glance at my watch for the second time in five minutes, he appears in the doorway. He looks just as tall, dark, and handsome as he did earlier today, only this time the angles in his face and his muscles look even more defined as a result of the tan settling deeper into his skin.
“Hi,” he says, hanging his head just a little, before turning his eyes up to mine.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
“You wanted to see me?” His hair falls slightly into his face as he leans on the side of the wall like some sort of modern day James Dean.
What the hell do I say now? This is the first time I have ever even made an inkling of a first move on a guy. It feels foreign and unnatural and yet exciting at the same time.
“I was just wondering,” I say slowly, “if you wanted to join me ashore tonight?”
He raises his eyebrows before smiling out of the corner of his mouth.
“Of course,” he says confidently. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I was going to go out with my girlfriends. We’ll probably go dancing or something like that. Nothing is set in stone.”
Henry takes a few steps closer and sits down on the couch right next to me. I turn my body toward his so that our knees are nearly touching.
"Well, if it's not set in stone,” he says, “what do you think about doing something else instead?”
“Like what?”
“How about dinner at one of my favorite taco stands? Followed by a few drinks at a shitty but incredibly fun dive bar?”
Anyone else in his position would try to impress me by taking me to some fancy five-star restaurant and fumble through the wine list. Anyone else would try to pretend that they were a lot more worldly than he is, even though we both know that he works crew on my father’s boat.
But he doesn’t.
I am intrigued and surprised by his audacity. He is a breath of fresh air that’s so intoxicating, it leaves me disoriented.
One-click DANGEROUS ENGAGEMENT now!
Connect with Charlotte Byrd
Sign up for my newsletter to find out when I have new books!
You can also join my Facebook group, Charlotte Byrd’s Reader Club, for exclusive giveaways and sneak peaks of future books.
I appreciate you sharing my books and telling your friends about them. Reviews help readers find my books! Please leave a review on your favorite site.
Also by Charlotte Byrd
All books are available at ALL major r
etailers! If you can’t find it, please email me at [email protected]
Wedlocked Trilogy
Dangerous Engagement
Lethal Wedding
Fatal Wedding
Tell me Series
Tell Me to Stop
Tell Me to Go
Tell Me to Stay
Tell Me to Run
Tell Me to Fight
Tell Me to Lie
Tangled Series
Tangled up in Ice
Tangled up in Pain
Tangled up in Lace
Tangled up in Hate
Tangled up in Love
Black Series
Black Edge
Black Rules
Black Bounds
Black Contract
Black Limit
Lavish Trilogy
Lavish Lies
Lavish Betrayal
Lavish Obsession
Standalone Novels
Debt
Offer
Unknown
Dressing Mr. Dalton
About Charlotte Byrd
Charlotte Byrd is the bestselling author of many contemporary romance novels. She lives in Southern California with her husband, son, and a crazy toy Australian Shepherd. She loves books, hot weather and crystal blue waters.
Write her here:
[email protected]
Check out her books here:
www.charlotte-byrd.com
Connect with her here:
www.facebook.com/charlottebyrdbooks
www.instagram.com/charlottebyrdbooks
www.twitter.com/byrdauthor
Tell me to Lie Page 14
