As You Crave It

by J. Margot Critch

  He took a deep breath, and with each step he took to the deck, he felt like he was selling his soul. He’d heard a few things about Jared Foster... He sneered. He’d try to forget about them and do business with Seacoast Prestige based only on the company’s portfolio, but the more he thought about it, the harder it was going to be to move past it.

  He boarded the vessel and was met by the yacht crew on the main deck. Each one of them was better-looking than the last. While one steward took his shoulder bag, another handed him a champagne flute.

  He sipped from the flute and heard a voice boom from inside. “Is that Quin Rexford?” He looked up and saw Jared Foster approaching, joining him on the deck. He was wearing white linen pants and a shirt to match, and was holding his own glass of champagne. He downed it, but instead of putting the delicate glass on the table next to him, he carelessly tossed it to the deck, causing the glass to splinter into a million tiny shards of crystal against the hardwood of the teak deck.

  Appalled, Quin looked at the barefoot stewards, who exchanged a quick look of contempt, and possibly fantasies of poisoning Jared’s food, but then broke into broad smiles. He caught the eyes of one of the women and did his best to convey a look of apology.

  Jared put out his hand, ignoring the stewards working to clean up his mess. “I’m glad you’re joining me.”

  Quin shook it with apprehension. “I appreciate the invite. I’m looking forward to discussing our upcoming collaboration.”

  “We can discuss the business later. We’re not ready to sign anything yet.”

  Quin ground his teeth together and realized that the deal wasn’t quite as finalized as he thought it was. He was going to have to play along with the man—butter him up to do the deal.

  “We’re here to have some fun, too.” He looked at the stewards. “Is anyone going to come and give me another goddamn drink?” he yelled.

  “I’m sure someone would have if they weren’t all trying to clean up glass,” Quin pointed out. When Jared glared at him, Quin was about to say something else, but one of the stewards came and handed him a glass.

  “You came alone, Rexford? I said you should bring a girl. This yacht’s a real pussy magnet. You would have had some guaranteed action.”

  Quin thought about the invite he’d given to Celia. There was no one else he would have invited, but he realized he wouldn’t want her anywhere in the company of Jared Foster. “Well, you know, down here in St. Martin I figure I’d be able to find plenty of action.”

  “That’s my guy!” Jared laughed, and the sound was loud and crass. Then he slapped Quin hard on the back in a classic move to assert his dominance. But Quin didn’t move under the force of the blow and sent Jared a look that said he wouldn’t be intimidated. If that put the deal in jeopardy, then so be it. He still had his dignity and self-respect. He wouldn’t put that on the line for any distribution deal.

  He and Jared connected eyes for a moment before Jared looked away, again turning his attention to the stewards. “Girls, give Mr. Rexford a tour. Quin, go get freshened up. We’ll have dinner.”

  Quin nodded and looked at the women. He wondered how they could possibly work for a man who barked at them, demeaned them. “Lead the way, ladies.”

  The women led him through the boat. He knew Jared had told them to guide him around to show off his boat. Even though he knew Jared was an asshole—that hadn’t been a surprise—Quin was thoroughly impressed with the mega-yacht. He caught sight of the bar and pictured the entire fleet of Seacoast Prestige’s yachts—not to mention their private jets and everything else they owned—stocking Rexford Rum.

  Another champagne flute was placed in his hand and they walked up a spiral staircase to the top of the boat. “This is the sundeck,” the chief steward told him. She pointed to the hot tub, another bar and the padded area for hanging out and sunbathing.

  “This is incredible,” Quin said. Again, his thoughts turned to Celia. He’d asked her to join him on a whim. And he could almost picture her lying on the sundeck in a minuscule bikini, her dark hair spread over the cushion. In his fantasy, Celia rolled over onto her front, and he was treated to a view of her round ass, her bikini bottom disappearing between her cheeks.

  Consumed by his thoughts, Quin was barely paying attention when the crew finished the tour by leading him to his quarters. “The crew quarters are just down these stairs,” the steward went on. “So if you need anything, just let us know and we’ll make it happen.”

  “Thank you. Everything looks fantastic.”

  He went inside and saw that his bag had already been neatly unpacked. His clothes were hanging in the closet, his toiletries were in the bathroom and his laptop was sitting on top of the desk. It was one hell of a way to spend three days—aboard a luxurious yacht, his every need catered to. Even if he was going to be spending the time with someone like Jared Foster. He looked at the king-size bed. If only he had a little company. Immediately, he again thought of Celia. So much for being only friends. Especially since all he could think about was seeing her naked again. He thought he’d scratched the itch, but the sting remained, and there was no doubt that he wanted her again. Just being friends would be harder than he realized.

  He had to focus on the business. This whole deal with Seacoast Prestige was his chance to be more like his older brother. To think like Reid, act like Reid, be Reid. WWRD? What would Reid do? Hell, the world must be ending. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed his brother’s number. It rang a couple of times before Reid answered.

  “Hey, Quin,” Reid said, sounding relaxed. “How’s it going in Paradise?”

  “Oh, man,” Quin said, shaking his head. “It might have been easier to smooth over the guy whose wife I slept with.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “I’ve been here for thirty minutes so far and I already hate the guy. I’ve been around assholes before, but I’m not sure how I’ll last three days on this boat.”

  “I’ve heard about Jared Foster, but you’re doing a good job, Quin. Having our rum on those boats would be priceless, right?”

  “Yeah, I get it. I just want to get this done without having to talk to the guy any more than I have to.”

  “I’m glad it’s you down there. You’re the best one to spend three days partying on a yacht in the Caribbean.”

  “You mean I’m the one who screwed up the most.”

  There was a pause on Reid’s end. “Quin, you know we don’t hold that against you, right?”

  “Sure,” he said, not convinced.

  “Listen, I was mad at the time, but shit happens, you know? In the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal.”

  Quin nodded but said nothing. Reid had said that before, but Quin knew how his brother had really felt. He’d called it “another event in the long line of Quin Rexford fuckups.” The words had been spoken in anger, and even though Reid had told him later he hadn’t meant it, Quin couldn’t help but think there must be some truth behind them. He had to admit he was a bit of a fuckup. Also, having thought about it, Reid was right. Quin was probably the better of them to schmooze Jared Foster. He’d dealt with high-maintenance clients before, and he’d do it again. He was the face, the charismatic one. He just had to put aside his distaste for the man, and to make a deal that would be good for the business. The mainstream success they enjoyed had come as a surprise, but Reid insisted that they remain a luxury brand. Being offered on Seacoast Prestige’s fleet would do that. Quin would make it happen for his siblings.

  “All right. I’m going to go get ready for dinner. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Have fun—but not too much fun.” Reid’s voice held an edge of warning. Quin knew his brother trusted him, but he had something to prove. He would remain on his best behavior for the entire trip.

  “Don’t worry about any of that, Reid. I know how important this is. This won’t exactly be f
un for me.”

  “If you can’t have fun on a multimillion-dollar yacht, you’re not the brother I know and love. Whether or not you hate the guy, just try to think of this as a vacation. Hit a beach, find a sexy woman.”

  “Who is this?” Quin asked, pulling the phone away from his face. “Are you, Reid Rexford, telling me, Quin, your brother, to blow off work to go screw around on a beach with a strange woman?” Reid laughed, and Quin knew that before his brother had met his live-in girlfriend, he would not have told Quin to forget about work. Hell, he probably would have come along just to supervise. “Lila is such a bad influence on you.”

  “I didn’t say blow off work completely,” he amended. “All right, but now that bad influence is in the kitchen making dinner wearing only the shirt I had on earlier today.”

  “You lucky bastard,” he teased. He loved Lila and was happy for the positive effect she’d had on his formerly workaholic brother.

  “Don’t I know it. I’m going to hang up now.”

  “Sure. Tell Lila ‘hi’ for me.”

  “Will do.”

  Quin disconnected the call. Maybe he would follow up on his brother’s advice. A sexy woman on a beach. Again, his thoughts turned to Celia. And for the first time today, he allowed himself to think about what had happened between them. She might have regretted it, but there was no way he did. Hell, he wondered where they would be if he’d taken her up on her offer eight years ago.

  But he had to get the woman off his mind in order to complete the business transaction he was there to do. He would take the three days step-by-step to get through it. And step one was to get ready for dinner. To start, a shower. He went into the bathroom and opened the cabinet over the sink. His toiletries had been put away and he saw that the stewards who’d unpacked his bag had put the condoms he’d brought in a discreet location. He didn’t think he would use them—after all, this trip wasn’t about sex—but after last night on the beach with Celia, he’d never be caught unprepared again.

  Quin turned on the shower and stripped off his clothes. Under the hot spray of the water, he felt the sheen of sweat and grime and recycled air from the plane rinse from his body. He soaped up, and with Celia still on his mind, all of his blood headed south. Reasoning that it was as good of a time as any to take care of that bit of business, he took himself in hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around his shaft, stroking himself, imagining that Celia was on her knees, in front of him, his dick in her mouth. His movements became quicker, more frantic, as the pleasure built. A few more strokes and he was over the edge, coming against the shower wall. As he cleaned up the mess, he realized that his hand was no substitute for the actual woman in his dreams. He thought about her still in Miami. He wanted her and he sighed out loud.

  It was going to be a long three days.

  * * *

  In her quarters aboard the If This Boat’s Rockin’... Celia rolled her eyes at the ship’s trashy name and changed into a floral sundress. She’d stayed in her quarters for as long as possible, but now the yacht had left the dock and her presence was requested at dinner. She still had no idea why she was told to join him and his guests on the yacht, but she didn’t like it. It was hard enough to work for the man Monday to Friday, let alone being trapped on the open water with the world’s creepiest dude. Celia reached into her purse and took out the small digital recorder she’d brought with her in the hopes of catching Jared being inappropriate. If she had to spend three days with the monster, she might as well make it worth it.

  Her door opened, and she dropped the running recorder on the floor near her bed. When Jared walked into her room, she quietly kicked it under the bed to conceal it.

  “Don’t you knock?” she asked.

  “This is my boat, everything that happens on board is my business, and that means I don’t have to knock.” He looked her up and down and her skin crawled. “Celia, you look hot.”

  “That’s completely inappropriate,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest, putting a barrier between her body and his lecherous gaze.

  “You should appreciate it now. In ten years, you’ll want people to tell you how sexy you are. But by then it’ll be too late.” She grimaced. There was no way that at any age, she would be looking for any sort of compliment from Jared, or anyone like him. He leaned in close, and his eyes were transfixed on her breasts. “You know, why don’t we close the door and have a little bit of fun?”

  She had to control the retching in her stomach. She backed away, hoping he’d identify and respect the body language cue she was giving him. “Isn’t it soon time for dinner?”

  He stopped. “I could be convinced to skip it.”

  “I won’t. I’m starving.”

  “You come to my master quarters tonight.” He laughed. “You’re one of my newest employees, but you’ll learn that I’m not too burdened by propriety.”

  She’d learned that all too well. She wanted him out of her room, and out of her life, but needed to keep him talking. “Why am I here? Why did you insist I join you on your yacht?”

  He shrugged. “You’re gorgeous, and I figured we’d have a little fun away from the office. Consider it a reward for all of your hard work.”

  Celia hoped like hell that the recorder was catching everything he said, but she imagined that there would be ample time for Jared to implicate himself in the next three days, if she could stomach it. “Like you’re ever in the office, Jared,” she muttered. “But either way, I’d appreciate it if you knocked before entering my room. In fact, I insist on it.”

  Jared rolled his eyes. “Babe, I don’t imagine you’ll be spending much time alone in this room.”

  “What are you implying? I work for you.”

  His laugh was cocky. “Maybe if you come by later, we can talk about a promotion. You could rise the ranks at Seacoast Prestige pretty quickly.”

  Before she could respond—what would she say besides telling him to go fuck himself?—there was the noticeable sound of footsteps in the hall; some of the other guests were in the hallway, most likely heading up to the sky deck, where dinner would be served. With a potential audience just feet away, Jared straightened his posture and smiled warmly, turning away to go out the door. “We’ll be having dinner soon. I’d like to see you there promptly.”

  If Jared didn’t get away from her, he seriously risked bodily harm. But she would be an easier target for his harassment if she appeared diminutive... If he touched her, however, he would live to regret it. She could barely suppress the shudder that rolled throughout her body, and she had to remind herself it was all about gathering evidence against Jared. That was what pushed her to continue instead of hurling herself overboard just to get away from him. The next three days would be a balancing act for sure. She would have to simultaneously protect herself, focus on the task at hand and make sure she didn’t run off the boat at the next port. She had to stop herself from sneering at him, but instead she pasted a wide smile on her face, not caring if he thought it looked fake or not. “Sure, Mr. Foster. I’ll be right up.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Celia had composed herself, and had her recording device safely secured with a small piece of fashion tape, under her dress, as she walked up the stairs to the sky deck. Just to be safe, she’d also slipped a small wine opener with a corkscrew and knife into the pocket of her sundress—that item, she’d thought about leaving in her cabin, but a girl couldn’t be too careful when entering a den of wolves. So instead, she’d armed herself as if she was walking through a dark parking garage in the bad part of town at 3:00 a.m., instead of a dinner on a warm night on a seventy-million-dollar mega-yacht. She would have preferred the parking garage.

  The voices of Jared’s guests were boisterous, loud and lubricated by rounds of wine and spirits, and she mentally prepared herself to be annoyed by everything they said. Hell, if they were all as disgusting and predat
ory as Jared, maybe she could kill several birds with one stone and take down all these sons of bitches.

  She walked out onto the deck and saw that in addition to Jared, there were four men and another woman seated around the table. She recognized one of them as Jared’s number two at the company and his wife, and she’d learned that the others were important shareholders. The last man sat with his back to her, but when he said something to the group she stopped at his familiar voice. She’d heard that voice earlier that day. She knew his laugh, intimately knew the erotic low sound he made when he came. She’d heard that voice in her house, after they’d agreed to be friends.

  Quin.

  She rounded the table and took the one empty seat next to Jared, putting her directly across from Quin. He was wearing a sky-blue button-up shirt with short sleeves that looked like it was made from a material softer than anything she’d ever felt. His deep brown eyes narrowed when he saw her, and the cocky smile that had been on his face fell from his lips.

  “Celia,” Jared said, touching her arm. “I believe you know everyone else at the table, but I’d like you to meet Quin Rexford, from Rexford Rum.”

  In a subtle movement, Celia leaned away from Jared’s fingers and faced Quin. “Hello, Mr. Rexford.”

  “It’s Quin,” he told her.

  What was he doing there? Could it have been a coincidence that he’d just reentered her life and then infiltrated her work. What was going on?

  “Quin is a friend,” Jared explained. “He’ll be joining us for the next few days.”

  Celia’s gaze went to Quin, who straightened and jutted his chin. If it had been a decade ago, she would have known the movement to be defiant, but she wasn’t sure what it meant now.

  “You’re with Rexford Rum? It’s a good one,” Celia added. “One of my favorites.”

  “And Quin’s looking for a distribution deal with us.”