Tempest Tossed: A Love Unexpected Novel

by Adams, Alissa

  "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.”

  “I know, Angelo’s been setting me straight on that score. So far I feel real lucky to have landed this gig.”

  The day I had gotten ‘the call’ from the recruiter we’d been slammed. Friday lunch could get ugly and the Red Hat club was out in force. I’ve got nothing against little old ladies, but they are fussy as hell. Sauce on the side for one and all. All I could do when I felt the phone vibrate in my pocket is take a quick glance and see the recruiter’s number I’d programmed into my phone. It took all my resolve not to drop everything and return the call.

  The Executive Jerk had watched me, laughing. He was taunting me and doling out insults that every other cook in the kitchen seemed to find hilarious. I knew I was in the weeds; I didn't need to be reminded.

  I’d wanted to take my hot spatula and smack him. Sizzling steel would've wiped that smirk off of his pretty face. I wondered if it was hot enough to singe that perfectly maintained scruff on his chiseled jaw. Since I had managed to shake off the initial crush, his looks had morphed from staggering to cliché. Even the impressive motorcycle that had seemed so cool when he rode up on it faded into another predictable detail. He was trying so hard to be awesome in every way that he had become a caricature. I doubted he ever had an original thought.

  I told Stephen that I hadn’t even considered that there could be a job like the one he offered me. “I think maybe James Purvell mentioned that Crew Unlimited staffed private yachts, but it wasn’t really on my radar.”

  “I’m glad we found each other. I think you’ll be a good match for El Loco.”

  “Thanks. I’m surprised you hired me so quickly. Plus, I’d come right from lunch. God I must’ve stunk like fish on the grill.”

  “I didn’t notice. I needed someone fast and I wanted someone good. I’d eaten at Topanga many times over the last year. It’s excellent.”

  “If you ate anything from the grill, I cooked it.”

  “I figured. So, you just went back to the restaurant after our interview and quit, huh?”

  “I briefly considered not even going back. But, good as that would have felt, I decided not to lower myself. I finished out the dinner shift.”

  The sorry little tale of my last night didn’t take long to tell. Quitting had turned out to be a bit of a letdown. It was hard for me to accept being so expendable. Chef Asshole had warmly congratulated me. Once I was no longer his employee, the entire façade slipped away.

  He hadn’t seemed particularly hurt or even annoyed. Matter-of-fact as hell, he got one of the cooks on the phone right away to suss out his buddies. Then he surprised me by pouring a round of shots for the crew and toasting my new career with some top shelf Patron.

  “Then,” I concluded, “water, bridge and I was so outta there.”

  “And here you are.”

  I felt like I was boring him. Enough about me. I wanted to hear more about Dylan. "So, you've been the Captain on El Loco for how long?"

  "Five years, more or less. We've had a great time. But I think the Boss is getting restless. That's why he's itching to join daddy dear's business."

  "You don't like Dylan's father?"

  "Let's just say I don't have a lot of respect for him."

  "Why not?"

  "Because he's a spineless worm of the highest order. Let's just leave it at that."

  There was obviously quite a bit of history that Stephen seemed determined to keep to himself. As curious as I was, it seemed pushy to pry. "Five years is a long time. Do you just cruise around all the time?"

  "We've been all over the world. Fished in a lot of tournaments."

  "On this boat?" I didn't
know a lot about the sport, but I was pretty certain I wasn't aboard a fishing boat.

  "Oh, hell, no. We either charter or we use the tender." I knitted my brow at the unfamiliar term. Stephen answered the unspoken question. "It's easier to show you." He picked up the radio and summoned the first mate to the bridge.

  "I promised you a tour. Come and let me properly introduce you to El Loco."

  Chapter 8—Dylan

  The poolside beauties were a sight to see. I knew I could have put a damper on their naughty plans, but I figured I would let them have their fun. Watching them flirt with each other was not a bad way to spend a sunny afternoon. After all, it was my boat, my pool, my game.

  Just then my eyes caught the faintest rustle of the porthole curtain. It was just a hint of movement but it was enough to bring me up short. If it was still Rodrigo in that room, I wouldn't have thought twice about the sweet little play unfolding in front of me. I might have even mustered up the enthusiasm to join them. But everything had changed when Stephen pulled the stunt of hiring Rene. In a ridiculous flash of time I went from carefree to concerned. Concerned about what that pretty little dove of a chef might think.

  I propelled myself from the water.

  "Girls," I said. “How about moving to a shady spot? We need to protect that gorgeous skin of yours."

  I glanced back at the porthole again, but the curtain was closed and didn’t move. Apparently she was no longer watching.

  Shelby and Emery seemed happy enough to move to the chaise and resume petting one another. They progressed from the giggle phase and started making lusty noises. I watched for a few more minutes until I was fairly certain that the girls were oblivious to anything but each other. Then I slipped away as quietly as I could. If they questioned me about it later, I figured I could make some excuse. The truth—"Sorry ladies, my mind is fixated elsewhere."—was implausible to say the least. What man passes on watching two exquisite women? At that moment, much as I hated to admit it, the answer was me.

  Back in my stateroom, I fetched Lady Delaney from her confinement. The little devil had digs better than most people, but she still preferred to have company—specifically my company.

  "C'mon, Ms. Mischief, let's go up to the bridge. I'll let you drive." She clamored up my arm and took her place on my shoulder as if to say "let's go!" Lady D. loved the bridge. All the multi-colored screens blinking as depths were charted and fish sightings recorded fascinated her. She didn't have the strength in her little hands to push anything hard enough to move it, so she spent her time watching the changing lights, trailing her tiny fingers over the patterns.

  "You're relieved, Jackson," I told the mate. He snapped me a little salute and left me alone on the pilot deck with my thoughts. I was mulling over my unexpected failure to live up to my 'reputation' when I heard the door open behind me. Lady D. sounded a stressed call and I turned to see Rene standing in the door to the control room. I quickly grabbed the monkey because I never knew how she'd react, especially to a female she'd only just met.

  "Mr. Cruz. Oh. Stephen told me to wait here for him . . . um . . . He got called away. I was having a tour. Well then. I'm sorry to disturb you." She turned to make a flustered exit.

  "You aren't disturbing me at all. Come get to know Lady Delaney." Rene took a couple of tentative steps toward me and I watched the capuchin carefully. I hoped she wouldn't make a mad dash for the chef's hair or worse. Lady D. had bitten a woman once and even without her canines it wasn't pretty. The golddigger actually sued and my little monkey ended up costing me twenty-five grand. If it had been her perfect face instead of her ankle it could have been a lot more. Fortunately, it was only a nasty bruise that even her shark of a lawyer hadn't been able to paint as anything more serious.

  Rene didn't seem the least bit afraid of the monkey, but she certainly seemed less than comfortable with me. She kept her eyes firmly averted from mine. I patted the seat beside the captain's chair and she perched on the edge of it, stiff as hell and ready to bolt. The muscles on her shapely legs were tense. I could make out the definition of her delicate, but defined muscles. Spending her days on her feet had given her an awesome set of wheels.

  She smiled kindly at my monkey and looked at her through downcast eyes. It was intuitive. Lowering her head, shyly peeking at the monkey through her lashes was a naturally submissive gesture. It was also damn cute. Lady D. read the body language and leapt from my hand onto Rene's bare knee. I knew how those cool little hands tickled on bare flesh. Rene didn't flinch, but predictably she giggled.

  "Hello there, little one," she said in a sea-soft voice. Lady D. began an inspection tour of Rene's body beginning with the edge of her denim shorts. She wiggled her hand into the pocket nearest her no doubt hoping there were bears in there.

  "Lady D. . . . be good. No more candy today." The monkey gave me one of her most disarming grins and Rene laughed out loud. Tiny simian hands plucked at the buttons on Rene's blouse and reached the swell of her breasts. Of course, capuchins don't have any manners and Lady D. gave the two perfect small mounds her complete attention. Rene continued to be a good sport about it. I envied my monkey as she explored my chef’s ripe roundness.

  "You don't see many of those covered up, do you?" Rene quipped. As soon as she said it, I could see the fire rise in her cheeks. "Oh . . . oh I am so, so sorry. It just came out." She stood up suddenly, causing Lady D. to scamper up to her shoulder. When Rene reached up to take her in her hands, the monkey bolted for the opposite shoulder. After a couple more back and forths, Lady D. climbed to the top of the chef's head.

  "Would you please get her off of me?"

  I patted my shoulder but Lady D. refused to obey. The whole scene was pretty hilarious.

  "She doesn't seem to want to let you go." Rene still wouldn't look me in the eye. I didn't think it was possible for a person to turn such a bright shade of red without physical exertion.

  "Really. I have to . . . get back to the kitchen—the galley. To work. Really."

  "I wasn't aware that you had much to do tonight."

  "Well no. But yes. I have to . . . several of the guys will stay on board. They'll want dinner. Please?" She leaned toward me, trying to get me to relieve her of the stubborn monkey hat. It was wicked of me, but seeing her squirm was just too funny. I knew she must have thought of me as a real man-whore and wanted nothing more than to get away from me. And even though man-whore is a pretty fair assessment from what she may have seen or imagined, some niggling little voice in my head wanted to prove that I was more than what met her eye.

  "It's still early. Why don't you keep me company for a while?" Lady D. was sorting through Rene's hair, plucking strand after strand out of the loose twist at the back of her neck. It was grooming behavior that the monkey reserved for only her favorite people. I was surprised and rather pleased that my little pet had taken a shine to our new chef.

  "What about your company? Won't you be missed?"

  "The girls can amuse themselves. I'm sure you could see that when you were spying on us."

  "I didn't . . . I wasn't . . ." She looked around the control room like she wanted a place to hide.

  "Oh but you were. I saw the curtain rustle. Did you enjoy the show?"

  "I didn't stay for the climax."

  "There may have been several." She shot me a look that was a mixture of disgust and embarrassment. I was baiting her but I had this intense desire to . . . I don't know . . . start something. Or maybe I just didn't want her to leave.

  "Look, Mr. Cruz. I'm a big girl. You haven't shocked me."

  "But you didn't stay for the grand finale, did you?"

  "I'm not into watching other people have sex. Okay?"

  "Actions speak louder than . . ."

  "I heard noises. You were only a few feet from my window."

  "I'm sorry they disturbed you."

  "It's your boat and you can do whatever you want on it."

  "You're quite right, I can. And what I want to do right now is hav
e a civil conversation with you." I couldn't suppress a smile at how silly she looked with my monkey on her head. Rene rewarded my smile with a scowl. "Sit," I ordered.

  She parked her little frame as before, stiffly on the edge of her seat. Her body language said "I'm here, but it's not where I want to be." Lady D. moved back onto her shoulder and began examining Rene's ear. Those minute fingertips explored Rene's sensitive ear and she involuntarily rolled her head onto her shoulder and laughed.

  "That tickles." She reached up and this time Lady D. allowed her to catch her in her hands. Rene held the monkey out in front of her face. "You're full of it, aren't you?" The monkey-charm smile was magic.

  "She likes you."

  "She's sweet. I like her, too."

  "But her master's another story?"

  Rene stood up again, this time handing my pet back to me. "I don't think that how I feel about you is important."

  "Sit down." This time, the cat's eyed stare defiantly met my eyes. The thin line of her lips was white at the pursed edges. "We're going to spend a lot of time together on this journey. I think it would help if I knew where I stood."

  "You're my boss. That's where you stand. Isn't that enough of an opinion for you?"

  "No, it's not." I saw her hands clench at her sides and the flicker of something real close to anger crossed her face. "And, technically, I'm not your boss."

  "Stephen calls you 'the Boss'."

  "Stephen is both kind and wrong. It's a harmless illusion and there's no reason for me to argue with him. He doesn't know the whole story. He knows this barge belongs to my father. That's all. I'm more or less a perpetual guest—even a caretaker might be a better description. So, in the chain of command, you work for Stephen who works for my father." I never admitted my real circumstance to a woman. Never. The women I dated wanted to believe El Loco and all she represented belonged to me. With Rene, I had this totally unfamiliar urge to spill my guts. I reasoned she'd like the real thing better than a façade. That was kind of a scary thought, too.

  "I still think you're a very lucky man."

  "Nice dodge. I'm not as lucky as you think."