“Thanks, Jean-Pierre. Has this ever happened before?”
“Neever. I know not what we will do.” He shrugged, and taking a sip of coffee, tried to hide his worried face. The kitchen behind them slowly ground to a halt as the chefs gathered in groups, confusion showing on their faces.
“Well,” said Pippa, “if the other kitchens are still fed by gas, perhaps they can help?”
“Not possible, I’m sorry. Zay are too small to cope, and also, is too far away from the restaurant.”
Rob approached the two of them, the dismal expression on his face doing nothing to allay their fears. “Christian has just been on the phone — he says all the other departments are fine, it’s only our kitchen that’s out. The engineers are being called out but it will take a few hours before they arrive.”
“Merde.” Jean Pierre looked askance at Pippa. “Sorry, Peepa, very sorry. Alors! What shall we do?”
Pippa absentmindedly fiddled with her Claddagh ring, and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “So, we can’t cook anything here. Let’s just do a cold buffet, and shift the lunch à la carte menu to dinner time, to avoid wasting the ingredients. The sun is shining, and the guests won’t know any better. I know you said the other kitchens can’t help, but I’m sure they can cook some meats for us.”
Jean Pierre looked at her, chewing on his lip. “I think you are right. You ask each of the other three kitchens to cook some chicken, beef and ’am. It will not be much but is something. There are only seventy-nine booked in, we can close the book. We can do it as long as we’re fast.” Reaching out, he squeezed Pippa’s cheek the way he would a baby, and chuckled. “To work then, ma biche.” He took off walking at a thousand miles an hour.
The kitchen buzzed back to life: the sound of the washing machine nearly drowning out the scattered conversation and laughter that flowed through the fluorescent-lit kitchen as the chefs got down to business. The apprehension of whether they’d be able to make an entire cold menu look attractive hung in the air.
Pippa kept her head down, overseeing the starters and desserts. She put the four chefs working under her through their paces, questioning them for their ideas on what to do without gas. They had some bright ideas, which, after she spent a few minutes with each, they tweaked to sound mouth-wateringly delicious. There was a focused hum in the air surrounding her and her chefs as they got down to work, the odd joke being bantered around their station.
Pressure suited her, for her mind found a cool clarity in working hard, no margin for error. She worked fast, chopping, slicing, tasting, mixing, only pausing now and then for a quick drink of water. Life was nice and simple.
The smell of sea pines faintly mixed with spices came to her, and she shook her head slightly, confused, for it was certainly the first time she had ever smelt spring onions like that, only to slowly become aware of a presence beside her. His presence, more to the point. The suite had been empty when she had left, and she had forgotten the charismatic presence that she was finding increasingly magnetising. She glanced up to the right to see Jonathon watching her hands work.
“You move fast,” he commented. The weariness she had woken with threatened to return. Dear God, what was he referring to now? Move fast in what respect? Ending up in his arms last night? Oh, it was just all too confusing and it was she who made it so. She cast another fervent thanks that Rob had entered their suite when he had. Deciding on a non-committal reply, she nodded. “We are busy.”
“So I see.”
“Any news on when the gas will return?”
“The engineers are here, so we’re hoping to be up and running by three P.M. How are you today?” His voice had lowered, and he leaned in closer to her. If she didn’t know any better, he sounded as though he cared.
“Yes, yes, fine, thank you. I do apologise for crying all over your suit last night. A glass of champagne seemed to have sent me over the edge — it won’t happen again.” As she endeavoured to sound matter of fact, she neatly sliced the nail on her right hand thumb. A rookie mistake, when was the last time that had happened? Had he seen? Did he know the effect he had on her, standing so close to her? The shakes came to her legs and before they reached her hands for all to see, she reached around him for the next batch of herbs to chop, giving him her best “back-off-outta-my-space” look.
“Oh, but champagne is a tradition on the last night of the cruise for all hard-working staff. I hope you’ll reconsider.” His tone was serious, but he didn’t take the hint. She glanced at him, his broad shoulders outlined against the light behind him. Mistake. His open-necked white shirt showed a smattering of hair and outlined his defined pecs. What would they feel like under her hands?
Concentrate, Renshaw, concentrate.
“I mean about the cry … ” Pippa’s voice died away as she realised that he was teasing her. Flustered, she returned her gaze to her chopping board, only to peek up sideways at him under her eyelashes, amused at being caught out. And, okay, she admitted to herself, to see his smile again, to see his eyes crinkle in enjoyment at their exchange. She was enjoying it herself.
Overwhelmed suddenly came into her mind, and their brief chat drained of its pleasure. Of course, he’s just making sure she’s not as overwhelmed as she was last night. Last night! Her realisation that there was something about this man that pulled her in, rendering her powerless. Had she been overreacting? She shut her eyes briefly, looking inside herself, to witness her inner turmoil. Yet he was blithely unaware of it.
All he wanted was to make sure she didn’t jump ship.
There was she, fantasising about his lips.
Ha. Would she never learn? Rejection settled like a curled up snake in the pit of her stomach.
“Is there anything you want?” Turning to look at him full on, she knew her tone sounded curt, but her throat threatened to close in and she could barely get her words out. Damn. She sounded like a harpy. Could it get any worse? Misery dampened her senses, mist rolling in to cover the hills. He must only think the worst of her, how could he think otherwise? In the past forty-eight hours — was that all it was? — he had seen her annoyed, confused, upset, and now a harpy. Great.
His tawny eyes narrowed as he took in her face. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “Just checking everything is okay in the kitchen. Good work, carry on, Pippa. I look forward to seeing the results laid out.” So he was back to patronising. Pippa could handle that, far better to be patronised than to be flirted with.
Much safer.
She watched him leave. Even the way he walked away was attractive. Straight back, sublime shoulders tapering in to a slim waist, his high, curved backside begging out for her hand to caress it. How did he manage to get his trousers to fit so well?
Pippa breathed in, breathed out, repeated it, and concentrated on her food. Normally, once she turned her attention to her creating, everything else took a back seat.
Not this time.
• • •
Pippa was right, the girl was absolutely right, Jonathon found himself thinking as he walked away from Pippa. Obviously, she saw fit to maintain a distance between them at all times. He had decided after the fiasco with Rob last night to avoid speaking with her unless totally necessary. If Rob was spreading stories about them, steering clear of her was the only way to ensure that those who heard the rumours disbelieved them.
So actively seeking her out to talk to her didn’t quite fit in with his decision, but there had been no one else around at the time, and he couldn’t resist a little jibe in order to see her smile this morning. The way she had looked sideways at him was such a flirty look, it still sent honey thickening his veins. His mind lingered on her, the way her hair had fallen over her forehead, meeting her lashes, between which a bright glimmer of green had peeked mischievously. Captivating. His pelvis tightened involuntarily as he envisaged her looking at him like that, and
him having the freedom to take it further. See what her mischief led to. Pippa trailing kisses down his naked torso, pausing only to look up at him with that look, then carrying on down … His mouth drained of saliva, and his heart thumped erratically. He stopped at a counter and put his hand out to steady himself. Breathe. Breathe, dammit, stop the blood heading straight between his legs, before anyone expected anything coherent from him. He gritted his jaw. Think of the money, that seven million … where could it have gone?
Breathe.
Okay. And don’t think of Pippa.
He saw Jean-Pierre behind the service counter, switching off the lights that kept hot food warm.
He went over to him. “All under control, I see, Jean-Pierre?”
“Qui, monsieur, we are all fine.” Jean-Pierre looked at him with something akin to pride in his face. “That leedle girl, that Peepa, she is vraiment good. She es even better than me!” He threw up his hands in mock horror. “Ze problem this morning was no problem to ’er. She ’as a talent for her food, and I ’ave no worrees in leaving this kitchen to ’er.”
Jonathon looked at him. “Coffee?”
“Always.” Jean-Pierre nodded and walked with him over to the coffee station. He tutted when he saw all the group heads in place, filled with used coffee. Taking two out, he banged them against the knockout box below the machine, refilled them with freshly ground coffee, and set them back in place over two cups. “Peepa, she ’as it all in ’er control. I like her, Monsieur Eagleton, eef only I was ten years younger!” He pressed a button on the machine and it hummed into life.
Jonathon couldn’t figure out whether Jean-Pierre had been speaking to Rob, and if the rumours had begun. The smell of coffee rose, and he inhaled appreciatively.
Just what he needed, another stimulant after the heady stimulation of Pippa.
He quickly shut her image out, but her name remained on his lips. “Do you think Pippa will cope with working on a cruise ship?”
“Mais oui, why not?” He handed Jonathon his coffee. “I know is ’ard, living and working on a ship, but I think Peepa is full of fun. She es enthusiastic, but unlike most, does not use enthusiasm to ’ide a lack of knowledge or personality. I think everyone will like to work with her. You agree, non?”
Jonathon strove for a non-committal reply. Great, she was liked. Well, why wouldn’t she be? She was … wonderful. He kept his face straight as his stomach crashed. This couldn’t happen. Not in his company, not after Mulberry.
“Well, I’ll know at the end of this cruise. She seems to be shaping up well.”
“Yes, oui, shaping up well.” There was an innocent look to Jean-Pierre’s face that told Jonathon he had been talking to Rob. He was going to have to be very careful to avoid being seen with her. Slapping the other man on the back, he nodded his thanks and headed up to his office, armed with his caffeine fix.
It took a lot to impress Jean-Pierre, and Jonathon was torn between gratitude that Mulberry’s white elephant seemed to be the surprise of the cruise, and regret that he had no way to get her off the ship. For if it was a case of his name being dragged through the mud or getting Pippa off the ship, Jonathon would have no choice but to find her a different ship. He hadn’t worked his butt off since he was sixteen to achieve his goal, only to have Pippa bring it crashing down around his ears.
But he could control this situation.
He would stop thinking about Pippa, especially in compromising situations with him and no one else, maybe in a hot shower or a cool breeze skittering over her skin as she lay butt naked on his bed, glancing up at him with those bright eyes darkened in desire.
Dammit.
He had to avoid her at all times, and when he couldn’t avoid her, he couldn’t engage with her.
Two rules. He was CEO and could follow two petty rules, dammit.
Just think of Mulberry, and the unpleasant circumstances surrounding Pippa’s interview.
A little niggle swam in his tummy, but disappeared before he could grasp it to understand it.
• • •
Pippa walked through the now quiet kitchen, checking to make sure it gleamed. The cold buffet had gone down well with the guests, and the gas had been fixed and was ready for dinner service. It was nice to have the place to herself — her stomach still flipped at the thought that it was her kitchen. In about half an hour or so, the chefs and kitchen staff would return, bringing the place back to life. She ran a finger over the stainless steel counter, ensuring it was clean when the door from the staff corridor shushed open and Fiona came through.
“Pippa … what are you up to?”
“Just finishing up here, why?” Pippa looked at her friend with a big smile on her face. Misery could be kept at bay when you had fun with a new friend.
“We’re docking at Whangara, you know, where they made the movie Whale Rider. There’s a traditional Maori cultural experience on and a few of us are going. Are you working tonight?”
“Now that I know the run of this place, there’s really no need for both head chefs to be here, and Jean-Pierre has said that as he’s leaving the ship when we reach Akaroa, he’ll cover tonight. So great, I have the night off! Perfect timing, hey!”
“Get you, girl, you’ve already got the Kiwi accent, hey!” Fiona teased Pippa. “Although your pale English skin couldn’t be mixed up with the Maori skin. They’re so tanned and just so — oh — handsome, and capable, and strong, and … ” Fiona was obviously looking forward to the evening.
“Fiona!” Pippa laughed at her. “Is David not coming?”
“Ah yeah.” Fiona’s Irish accent got stronger. “Sure he knows I love him to bits, and just like the odd look, that’s all! No problem there, he knows me well enough by now.”
“Okay, I’ll run and get changed and see you at the Xplorer to go ashore.”
“Be quick,” warned Fiona. “The boat leaves the ship in forty minutes.”
Pippa ran back to the Doubtful, sure it would be empty. It was late afternoon, Jonathon was bound to be doing something all CEO-ish.
She pushed open the heavy door, only to stop up short as she noticed the doors open to the balcony, with the curtains swaying in the breeze. Jonathon must have forgotten to close them. The fresh sea air was invigorating.
Showering in no time at all, she changed into a pair of combat trousers and hesitated about putting a cardigan on over her white peasant top. It looked like a lovely sunny day outside, but it could be quite chilly. Going out her balcony door to check, she came up short to see Jonathon leaning over the balcony railings, looking deep in thought.
“Oh sorry, I didn’t realise you were here.” Pippa cursed to herself for not realising. She wouldn’t have come out if she had known he was there, cardigan or not. She didn’t need any further onslaught on her senses.
“That’s fine.” Jonathon didn’t look at her. “Although I notice you didn’t knock when you came in.” At this his head turned to take her in, his eyes a slate brown, lips set in a straight line.
“I thought you’d be working.” Pippa felt forced to justify herself.
“I am.” His face was so devoid of humour that Pippa’s insides felt as though she had just swallowed a large slush puppy in a hurry.
“Well, why don’t I just leave again, that way you can stop working.” Pippa turned on her heel and, going back through her room, exited the suite. If that was his attitude, well, that suited her down to the ground. She didn’t care, why should she? Obviously, he didn’t see the need to ensure that she wasn’t overwhelmed anymore. That must be a compliment. Oh, what the heck, she was spending far too much time thinking about him anyway.
It would be good to put some distance between them.
Chapter Six
As she stepped from the Xplorer, Pippa stretched and quashed the desire to lie on the ground. After being on an
unstable medium, nothing felt better than solid earth beneath her feet. And Whangara, where they had docked, was special. The beach curled and hugged the green hills, providing a glorious contrast to the hues of the sea, which crashed into shore only to shuck back over the sand.
A girl could lose herself here.
The shadows grew as darkness fell, reducing the hills to a mysterious silhouette, and the fires on the beach sent seeking fingers of jagged flames crackling upwards. Pippa pinched herself as she sat just out of the circle of campfire light. She wanted to soak it all in before rejoining her friends. The Maori were in traditional dress, the men in kilt-like skirts with a wide belt and a cape, and the women dressed similarly, some of them with grass skirts. They had been speaking and chanting in the Maori tongue all throughout the evening as they cooked their food in a hole in the ground surrounded by hot stones — a hangi — and served the strong, thick home brew. Their beating of the drums provided an ever-present background rhythm that Pippa swayed automatically to.
Smelling the heady scent of joss sticks from several that were rooted in the earth, the memory of the one time she had smoked marijuana came to her. This was a similar feeling to being stoned, in that she didn’t know quite what was going on, and the feeling of being overwhelmed was never far away. Fiona was up dancing with David and the others in Maori style, and Pippa watched from the fringe, the flickering of the fire barely lighting her up.
As she caught a wreath of smoke in her gaze, she followed it up into the indigo night sky, and her eyes widened yet again at the sight of so many stars. The Southern Cross emblazoned the night sky, sparkling like diamonds on a velvety indigo background, and the Milky Way showered the night sky in swathe after swathe of sprinkled stars. She leant back on her elbows to watch the stars dance, holding her face up, smelling the briny air as the sea breeze gently blew over her.
Romancing the Seas Page 6
