“It’s about time.”
“Did you sleep well?” I pulled his scooter to the bed and retrieved a bottle of water.
“See about having the sheets changed on my bed, Meyers. I don’t like the way my cast scratches against the ones on there now. Something with a higher thread count.”
“Yes, sir.” Where exactly would sheets like that come from on a boat? It wasn’t like the crew was hiding a Macy’s below deck.
After helping him onto his scooter, I remade the bed while he used the bathroom, then I gathered his phone and waited in the hall.
“You got some sun today,” he commented, as he scooted past me to lead the way to the dining room.
“I forgot to buy sunblock when we went shopping.”
“There’s some around here. Ask Marta where she keeps it.”
“I’ll do that.” Marta was married to one of the stewards, but I had yet to figure out which one was her husband.
“Are you making progress with the party?” He navigated his way to the common area.
“Yes. I should have all the arrangements firmed up by the end of the week.”
“Good. You might want to ask Marta about finding you a sea band too. We have some south west winds coming at us and a hurricane watch ahead.”
There went my newfound sense of security. “We might hit a hurricane? Will we pull over if we do?”
Remington laughed. “Where do you suggest we park? We’re in the ocean, Meyers.”
“But…maybe you should tell the captain to take us closer to the coast—just in case.”
“Why don’t we leave the navigation to Captain Wyatt and you worry about pulling out my chair.”
I shifted the chair and helped him transfer from the scooter to the seat. “Are they bad?”
“What, hurricanes? They aren’t pleasant. You can almost count on getting sick since you’re a rookie. Just hope the rest of us do well enough, or you’ll be holding your stomach helping me back and forth from the head.”
All I could picture was the intro to Gilligan’s Island and scenes from Forrest Gump after Lieutenant Dan went mad. I’d be puking over Remington’s shoulder while everyone else powered through. This was not good.
“Maybe we’ll beat the storm and make it to Florida before—”
“No way around it, Meyers. Get yourself one of those bracelets and hope for the best. We have at least eight more nights at sea.”
Lovely. As soon as I saw Marta I was getting one of those band thingies.
Eric entered the dining room and took a seat at the table. I was done with his cold shoulder nonsense, so I forced him to converse politely with me.
“How was your day, Eric?”
Appearing startled by my congenial approach, he collected himself and unfolded a napkin on his lap. “My day was fine, thank you.”
“Did you get a lot accomplished?”
His eyes narrowed and I could read his distrust. I was just making small talk. I wasn’t trying to lure him to his death or anything.
“Well, I wasn’t doing anything as globally instrumental as picking out a birthday cake, but I’d say I accomplished enough.”
My brows shot up as his barb hit its target. “Oh, well then…”
It took me a moment to shift gears. I hadn’t realized we weren’t faking civility in front of the others anymore. I could play that game.
“Maybe tomorrow, if you can take time out of your busy schedule, you could show me how to use the invoice program on one of the laptops. We can meet in my room. It’s on the main deck, just above the crew quarters.” It was a total bitch shot, but I did way more than pick out birthday cake today.
Mental note, don’t forget to order a birthday cake.
“I know where your room is.”
“I’m sure you do.” I held his gaze until Hale entered the dining room.
Picking up on the tension, he asked, “Am I interrupting something?”
Remington grumbled and poured himself a martini from the chilled shaker on the table. “Only a disturbing display of playground politics. If you two have something going, get it over with, and spare the rest of us the gory foreplay and juvenile banter.”
Mortified that anything I said could be mistaken as some sort of flirting, my words locked up in my throat.
Stupid Eric. Why couldn’t we just be civil? Every time I was in his presence, he made me feel like a pest, and I never asked him for anything more than to tell me where the office supplies were.
“The market did well today,” Hale purposely changed the subject.
The food was brought out and the conversation shifted to small talk. I focused on eating my Cajun pasta because man alive was it scrumptious!
“I guess your heartburn’s gone, Remington?” There was some serious heat to the pasta.
Remington frowned. “Who said I had heartburn?”
I paused, my next bite suspended an inch away from my mouth. Glancing at Eric, who was busy eating, I waited for any acknowledgement that he’d lied.
When he still wouldn’t look at me, I said, “Oh, I thought you weren’t feeling well. My mistake. I must have been misinformed.”
When Eric excused himself, he took a lot of my tension with him, and I could finally enjoy my meal.
“What’s in this sauce?” I asked, seriously making love to my dinner.
“It’s probably the paprika you’re tasting.”
My fork stilled. “Paprika?”
So I might have a mild food allergy I should have mentioned to the chef.
Hale tilted his head in concern. “Is there something wrong with the pasta?”
“No.” I cleared my throat, feeling like I’d swallowed a fistful of cobwebs. Putting down my fork, I inspected my face, but couldn’t tell if it started to swell. “Are you thore ith papweekah?” Ah, fuck.
Hale’s eyes widened. “Are you allergic?”
“Duth mildly. I haf antahithtameen in my purth. I’ll go get it.”
“Yeah, you probably should.”
Rising from the table, I quickly worked my way down the stairs before my eyes swelled shut.
“Thit. Thit. Thit. Thit. Thit,” I cursed as I dug through my purse.
When I found the little box, I popped a pill out of the foil and swallowed it before I even had water. As I entered the bathroom, I flinched at my reflection.
“Oh, Deethuth Chritht. I duth look thtunning.” Hopefully the pill would kick in fast and this would clear up soon.
Once I drank a glass of water, I ran a washcloth under cool water and held it to my face as I sat on the toilet and waited for the swelling to go down.
“Rayne?”
Here was a perfect example of how life was unfair. I’d conducted my behavior perfectly today, not making an ass out of myself once that I could recall, and now I looked like a fight club reject who took a beehive to the face.
“I’m thitting in here.”
Hale stepped into the bathroom and winced at the sight of me. “Jesus. Are you okay?”
“Yeth. Duth a little bit thwollen.”
He crouched before the toilet and inspected my face. “You should’ve told us you have food allergies.”
“I’m not uthed to having people cook for me.”
He offered a sympathetic smile. “I still think you’re pretty.”
My brow pinched together, which told me the antihistamine was taking affect. “You’re tho thweet for lying to me, but I thaw my reflecthon.”
“Are you going to stay in here all night?”
“Well, I don’t like walking around looking like Quathimodo, tho probably.”
He laughed. “You don’t look like Quasimodo.”
Folding my hands around the washcloth I sighed. “I had high hopeth for tonight, but I gueth that thip thailed.”
Now he really laughed. “Maybe avoid the letter S until the swelling goes down.”
I sighed. “Calamity Rayne thtriketh again.”
He chuckled. “You’re not a cala
mity.”
Oh, if he only knew the half of it.
“You left before I could show you the surprise I arranged.”
My brows lifted. “You got me a thurprithe?”
He nodded and stood. “Why don’t you come back upstairs and I’ll show it to you?”
I hesitated. “I don’t want to frighten the localth.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s only my dad up there and he’s watching the news. He won’t pay you any mind.”
Not used to getting surprises, I really wanted to see what it was. “Okay.”
I followed Hale up the steps and made funny expressions behind him in an attempt to get my face back to normal. I probably looked like the victim of an exorcism.
Remington was on the couch exactly where Hale said he’d be, but he wasn’t as preoccupied. “Christ, Meyers, you look terrible.”
“Thuch a thweet talker, Remington.”
He laughed. “Did you take a pill for that?”
“Yeth, thir.”
“Good. I told Laurent no more paprika. Any other allergies he should know about?”
“That’s it unleth he’th putting penithillin in the food.”
“You need anything else, Dad? We’re going up to the sky deck.”
“I have my phone.”
Hale nodded and I was extremely self-conscious as he rested his palm on my lower back right in front of his dad. Once we were outside, I said, “You probably thouldn’t do that in front of your father.”
“Do what?”
“Touch me like that.”
He frowned. “I didn’t touch you.”
“You had your hand on my back.”
Waving away my concern, he said, “That’s not touching, Rayne. Trust me. You’ll know when I’m touching you, and I’d never touch you in an inappropriate way in front of him.”
Was that because of my position or because my boss was his father? Either way, it seemed awfully possessive of him. But who was I to argue, because that little domineering touch was perhaps one of the most erotic things I’d ever experienced.
“Thanks for clarifying.”
“You got your S’s back.”
“Sssssss. Seashells, seashells by the seashore. Oh, thank God.”
As we stepped onto the sky deck, I saw the table was draped in white linen, and a silver covered dish sat beside a bottle of wine. Smiling, I peeked at the bottle.
“I hope this wine isn’t as strong as the Manhattan you made last night.” I could not afford a repeat episode.
“It’s port, and I’m not sure it’s a good idea after you took an antihistamine.” He tucked the bottle out of sight and pulled out a chair. “That’s not the surprise, though. Have a seat.”
Lowering into the chair, I smiled. “I’m not used to all this pampering. Holding doors, pulling out chairs, whatever would the suffragettes say?”
“They’d tell you those things are expected of any gentleman and you’re thinking about the feminist movement which took place across the pond about fifty years after suffragettes were around.”
“Well, I didn’t realize I was speaking to someone so well versed in herstory. Tell me more about women’s lib.”
He sat, looking completely at ease as he leaned back and folded his hands over his flat stomach. “No bras were harmed during the 1968 Miss America Pageant. It’s a myth. It was illegal to have a fire on the boardwalk, but women did bring bras to the protest the rigid, male imposed standards of beauty. The whole burning bras thing isn’t accurate, though.”
“Really?”
“Truth.” He gave a nod. “But I’m not as rigid as my ancestors, so feel free to remove your bra at any time.”
Impressed and amused, I laughed. “Only if you remove your undergarments first.”
He arched a brow. “Is that how it works?”
I shrugged, unsure how any of this flirty stuff worked. “You tell me.”
His gaze dropped to my chest and I was very aware of the ninety percent chance that he was imagining my boobs at that very minute. I wanted to cover myself and giggle, and furtively checked to make sure all my clothes were still in place. Yup, still good.
“What’s under the tray?” I asked, trying to diffuse the sexual tension and get the focus off my body.
Grinning, he leaned forward and lifted the silver cover. The air mixed with the sweet scent of sugar. “I had beignets made for you.”
My mouth opened as I stared at the pile of puffed squares doused in snowy powder. “Oh, boy. I should warn you now I have a problem with sweets.”
“Another allergy?”
“More like an addiction.”
I shopped at bakeries like some women shopped at Tiffany’s. There were six, so that meant I had to give Hale at least three. Although I’d never eaten a beignet before, I’d also never met a dessert I didn’t like.
Hale laid a linen napkin in front of me and placed a beignet on it. “Try one.”
I laughed. “One? You know that plate’s going to be gone in about ten minutes, right?”
“We’ll see. They’re very sweet.”
That mattered not. I was eating all of them. Lifting the soft puffed pastry to my lips, I breathed in the sugary scent. Oh, yes… Biting into the fresh dough, I—Have mercy. It was like the queen of donuts if she were still warm and melting on my tongue.
“Holy crap,” I mumbled over a mouthful of decadent heaven. My eyes closed as I savored the delicate flavor.
“Do you like it?”
“No talking. I’m in the middle of something over here.” I took another bite and fell back in my chair. “Why do these taste so much better than donuts?”
“They’re less dense because they don’t have holes. I think that’s why they taste less sweet, despite the powdered sugar piled on top.”
His words were like ear porn as my tongue had one tiny orgasm after another. I stuffed the last bite into my mouth and hummed happily.
“Are you going to have some?”
His gaze turned heavy as his mouth slowly curved. “Truthfully, I’d rather watch you eat them.”
I stilled as I sucked the sugar off my thumb and casually dropped my hands onto my lap. I had the table manners of a caveman. And all that sugar was now on my chest.
“I see what you mean about eating them while wearing black.”
Trying to dust off the mess I only rubbed it in, making it worse.
“And this is why they call me Calamity Rayne. Please eat some, so I’m not the only one looking like a slob.”
With a commiserating smirk, he broke a corner off a beignet and popped it in his mouth without dropping a single speck of sugar on his pressed shirt. Figures.
“Have some more,” he coaxed, after swallowing his pesky bite.
Don’t have to ask me twice.
Grabbing another, I used the napkin as a plate and broke this one into little morsels, so I looked like less of a pig. Hale’s eyes followed my every move and grew darker each time I popped a piece in my mouth.
“Do you have some weird fetish about watching women eat?”
“Maybe. I like watching you eat.”
“Well, then you’re in luck because I love food, especially sweets.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“I’m thinking it might be beignets, but I’m also a big fan of anything chocolate.”
“Good to know.”
Once I finished the second one I was stuffed—or so I told myself because I was supposed to be a lady, of sorts. The other beignets still tempted, but I decided I’d smuggle them back to my room and gorge on them before bed. That was enough pigging out in front of Hale for now.
“Thank you. They’re delicious.”
“You’re welcome.”
Easing back in my chair I frowned at my chest. “I look like an extra in Scarface.”
He laughed as I tried to puff out my shirt and bounce the sugar off my chest.
“Come here.”
Everything in me tensed as his req
uest registered. A slow nervous laugh whispered past my lips. “What?”
Sitting up, he scooted his chair back from the table. “Come here.”
Why, because he said so? Yeah, that worked.
I deliberately stood and stepped beside his chair. This was awkward and outside of my wheelhouse. My arms hung like dead weight at my sides as I waited for further instruction.
His fingers caught mine and he gently rubbed his thumb over my knuckles but didn’t do anything else. Still, it was enough to start my insides thrumming and get my women parts humming.
“Um…”
“Last night,” he started softly. “When you said you didn’t have a lot of experience…”
Oh, that…
“How little are we talking, Rayne?”
Being that I was rapidly getting off from his little finger massage, I’d say my experience was close to none. “There have been a few guys.”
“But you’re not involved with anyone now?”
“That would be a negative.”
“Good.” He pulled my hand until our knees brushed and then he reached for my hips and continued tugging.
I laughed, my motions lacking any level of grace. “What are you doing?”
“Sit down.”
“On you?”
“Yes.”
I tried to envision an elegant perch as he urged me to straddle his thighs. I achieved no such thing as I gawkily collapsed my weight onto his lap. “Well, I can’t recall ever sitting on Santa this way.”
He smirked and ran his finger under the collar of my shirt and my hair, sending chills down my neck.
“Okay, what are you doing?” I laughed again as my muscles convulsed in little shivers and my shoulders lifted. If he continued to touch me that way I’d lose all common sense.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine, and I froze, my eyes going wide.
“You okay?” he whispered, that hand still caressing the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail.
I loved the way his breath teased my lips. Its warmth, the trace of his masculine scent, the all over affect it had on my lady bits. Jesus Christ, this was possibly the most turned on I’d ever been.
“Mm-hm.” I didn’t say too much, afraid he might take those lush lips away.
His mouth traced mine, and I hummed, sinking a little deeper into his hold as my eyes slowly closed. Oh, he had very nice lips, soft yet firm.
Calamity Rayne: Gets A Life Page 13
