by Nina Hatch
“Shit. I know. I’m sorry, Liv.”
“That’s how you made me feel,” she says quietly.
Her words stop me cold. I look down into the churn of the sea beneath the boat, taking a deep breath. I still don’t know why I got this second chance, but I have four days to fix this. Four days to do what I should have done the night I met her — get us both some release and get her out of my system so I can move on.
“There’s no way around it,” I say. “I fucked up by leaving without giving you a reason. But trust me, I thought I was doing the right thing.”
I stare deep into her green eyes, wondering why I just asked her to trust me — wondering if I actually meant it.
I think I did.
“I left, and I’m sorry for that,” I continue, “but I never lied to you.”
Olivia looks at me for a long time, her expression unreadable. Then she steels her gaze. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Not like I would have had sex with you anyway.”
“Is that so?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at her. She knows she’s getting under my skin, and I see her lips turn up just a bit at the corners — I love that I have the chance to see her smile again.
“That’s right. You saved me the trouble of turning you down,” she says. “I never would have slept with you.”
“Really? You don’t think I can read you better than that? We both know that’s not the way things were heading that night.” I move in closer to her, running my palm up her arm. “Do I need to remind you about the ice cave again?”
“That was never even real,” she says, but her voice comes softer now, wavering just a bit.
“Maybe not, but this could be.” Her eyes close as I trace her jawline, lifting her lips closer to mine. “Give yourself permission to feel this, Liv.”
The scent of her coconut shampoo is intoxicating in the rapidly closing space between us. One whiff and I’m addicted all over again. Tangling my fingers through her hair the way I did at the wedding, I can just taste the hint of her soft lips when the sound of footsteps forces her to spring apart from me.
“Olivia, are you still up here — oh!” It’s Claire, the stewardess I met earlier, rounding the corner of the deck. Her hands fly to her mouth when she sees us pressed together in the moonlight. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…”
“You’re not interrupting anything,” Olivia says, snapping to attention, her face still flushed and looking guilty as hell. It’s funny, seeing her squirm like this turns me on more than I even thought possible.
“Um, I was just seeing if you needed help cleaning up in any of the main salons, but it looks like you have it handled,” Claire says, nervously.
“Wait, do you work onboard? I thought you were one of the guests?” I ask, looking at Olivia.
“Looks like I’m not the only one to assume something,” she says, her tone haughty.
“I’ll just…meet you back downstairs, okay?” Claire says, holding a hand up to block her eyes from looking at us as she sidesteps away.
I turn my full attention back toward Olivia. “Interesting,” I say with a grin.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Nothing. Just — looks like we’re in the same boat then, pun intended. We both assumed something where we shouldn’t have. And if you work onboard, that means you’ll be sleeping just down the hall from me, right? Awful close quarters…”
“I can’t believe this is happening right now,” Olivia says, the fire in her eyes reignited as she moves away from me. “As if you haven’t caused enough trouble for me.”
“Look, I never lied to you, but you’re right that I didn’t come out and tell you the truth either. So here’s the truth about me. I’m attracted to you. I have been since the moment I first saw you, and I am now more than ever. Something out in the universe is giving us a chance to try again, and I know I’m not going to waste it.”
I see her lips part, her chest rising and falling with quickened breath. I think I’m loosening her resolve, but then she presses her lips together again to form a thin line.
“You need to stay away from me, Jake. I’m serious. We have guests onboard, and this is inappropriate,” she says, her eyes searing. They linger a bit too long on my chest though, long enough that I can tell she knows that I noticed, but then she turns on her heel and stalks off.
“Oh, Princess, you have no fucking idea what inappropriate looks like,” I mutter under my breath as I watch her go.
This is going to be fun.
Chapter Eight
Olivia
“Oh my God. Did you see the carpenter Kevin brought on board yesterday? He is sex on a stick,” Teddy says, landing hard on my bed.
“What time is it?” I mutter, my eyes bleary.
“Time to start your shift, sleepy head. What time did you go to bed last night?”
“Unnh. Need coffee.” I say, trying to bury my head back in the pillow.
I was up late last night. Too late. And not because I was finishing up cleaning the guest spaces like I should have been. I was up thinking about Jake Rochester. I can still feel how close he was, his heady scent, his voice low and gravelly in my ear.
Questions tumbled around in my brain until I could see dawn breaking. How is it even possible that he’s here? Suddenly he’s a carpenter? I thought he was a trust fund douchebag? And why would any of that change how I feel about him?
So he’s not an entitled playboy like I thought, but he’s still the source of all my problems, right? Hasn’t he done enough damage to my life? And if his hands are that big, what does that mean about the size of his — JUST. GO. TO. SLEEP.
“Girl, you won’t need coffee when you see this guy,” Teddy says, ripping the covers off me.
“I have a feeling Olivia may already be acquainted with our strapping young carpenter,” Claire says, her mouth full of toothpaste as she waggles her eyebrows at me.
“Damn. He’s straight then,” Teddy says. “The guys I want always are. Did you talk to him? Wait, did you fuck him? Can you put a bag over your head next time so I can watch and pretend I’m you?”
“No, no, and what’s wrong with you? Don’t waste your time, he’s the worst. I think he’s actively trying to ruin my life. Like, I actually don’t know what I did in the great karmic beyond to deserve this.”
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, I’d let him ruin me any day,” Teddy quips. “Come on, he’s up on the sun deck now, we can spy on him from the galley stairs.”
I am in desperate need of caffeine, and I should probably finish up some of the polishing I was supposed to do last night before Mel notices, so I let Teddy drag me out of my warm bed.
The Mediterranean sun is already burning bright and hot, even though it’s barely morning. I try to hold out, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I reluctantly climb up to join Teddy and Claire in spying on Jake while I sip my coffee.
Jake is using a hand planer to smooth and shape the lumber, working in long, steady passes. I can see the coiled muscles in his forearms flex and contract with every stroke, his body steady, eyes focused like he’s performing a sacred ritual. Teddy, Claire, and I are hypnotized watching him from our covert nook on the spiral staircase leading up to the sun deck. If he happened to glance over, he would see our three heads peeking out, but none of us bother to move. When he stands up to take a drink of water, we duck down and I realize my mouth has been open the whole time.
Get it together, Olivia.
I can see the sweat glistening on Jake’s brow, and my eyes follow the path of a single drop as it trickles down his neck. He’s wearing jeans and a gray tee-shirt, but he may as well not be, from the way the cotton clings to his chest, outlining his pecs and dipping in and out to follow the striations of his abs.
I think I can hear Teddy actually panting.
“I hope I’m not bothering you all,” Mel’s voice rings out from below, stirring us from our daze with a sudden jolt, “but I have guests on the bridge deck
waiting for breakfast, and no bloody stews to serve it.” She turns on her heel and stalks off, leaving us to frantically scatter. I chance one last look up at Jake, praying he didn’t hear her.
But he cocks his head, his eyes latching onto mine before he flashes me a devastating wink.
Busted.
I’m mortified. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. Last night I almost lost control. Again. If Claire hadn’t interrupted, I think I would have let him fuck me right there on the sun deck.
I can’t lose this job, I remind myself. I just need to be a professional and get through this charter with my dignity intact. Jake is supposed to be installing the new panels today in Guest Cabin E, and in a couple days, they’ll be stained and finished and I never have to see him again.
Rather than providing me comfort, however, that thought just makes me picture his hands smoothing the wood again. Hands that last night were tracing down my throat, his fingertips tipping my chin toward him, leaning in to brush my lips — Damn it.
Okay. So I still need to work on forgetting about him.
Claire yanks on my elbow as we hasten toward the galley to bring breakfast to the bachelorettes. “Seriously, what’s the deal with you and the carpenter?” she whispers.
“It’s nothing.”
She snorts in disbelief. “C’mon, Liv. What I walked in on last night did not look like nothing.”
“I told you, he doesn’t mean anything to me. I met him back in Schiaro and I guess he thought we had a connection or something. I don’t know how he’s even here. All I know is I need to stay away from him for the next few days so I can get on with my life like this never even happened.”
“Okay-ay…” she says, raising her voice an octave, reaching beyond skeptical alto, all the way up to the range of doubting soprano. “If you say so…”
“Seriously, I’m not into him, okay? End of story,” I snap.
Claire raises her hands in surrender, but the angle of her eyebrows tells a different story.
I try to ignore the knowing glances she continues to shoot my way over mimosa refills and crepe plating for the guests, pinning a cheerfully clueless smile to my face. After we finally get the breakfast dishes cleared and pass the ladies off to the deck crew for an afternoon of jet skiing, I check the stew rotation schedule posted in the crew mess and groan. I have cabin duty again, which means being in the same hallway as Jake, which means…
“Claire, can I please please please switch with you today?” I beg, dropping to my knees dramatically as she finishes her oatmeal.
“You mean you want to be stuck in laundry wrestling sheets all day? It’s going to be 90 degrees in that little room! Wait, why am I trying to talk you out of this? Yes, of course you can switch with me, no take-backsies!” Claire says, hopping out of the booth and running to put more distance between herself and the laundry room.
Most of the time, I had kind of a sick love for laundry duty. After my first disaster of shrinking the captain’s shorts, I figured out what I was doing, and now I love being by myself for hours at a time instead of dealing with the pressure of serving and messing up in front of Mel. It also gave me a chance to be alone with the guest’s laundry, including pieces by some of the best designers in the world. It was like a master class to be able to really examine the seams and construction of a vintage Dior blouse or a Chanel jacket, and that made the suppressed designer in me giddy.
But today, in the sweltering heat, it was another story.
Maybe the temperature held steady at 90 degrees for the first four hours of cloistered laundry duty, but by hour five, it must have been nearing 100.
It didn’t help that one of the washing machines was out of balance, making the room ring with constant thudding. Plus, it seemed like everyone on crew spilled something on their uniforms today, so they kept popping by one by one to toss in another polo shirt or another pair of slacks. These of course were on top of the massive pile of king size sheets from all five occupied guest cabins, all towels, and a host of high-end dresses, blouses, and lingerie for the guests, all of which needed to be washed, pressed, and delivered back to the cabins before turndown.
“— Do you have room for one more shirt?”
I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear Jake’s low voice outside the laundry room. I can see the outline of his body through the slats in the door.
Shit. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. And I’m a complete mess, I’m sweaty and my hair is disheveled. Why does it matter what you look like if you’re not interested in him? I chastise myself.
“Uh, sure,” I stammer. “J-just leave it outside there, on the floor, I’ll come get it.”
But he’s already opened the door. Not only that, he’s already taken off his shirt.
For a moment, I’m stunned, gaping at his bare chest in the light. It’s more perfect than I even imagined, his contoured pecs glistening with sweat, tattoos wrapping around his biceps and forearms.
I need to roll my tongue back into my mouth and stop acting like a damn Looney Tunes character.
“You look like you could use a hand, can I help you?” he asks.
“I’m fine, just leave it on the floor, like I said.”
“I think that might be a little too much heat,” he gestures at the iron in my hand, where a copious amount of steam is rising from the pillowcase on the ironing board.
I hate that he gets me this rattled.
“Shit,” I mutter, attempting to rub out the crease I’ve now set in the fabric. I try to shoo him away, but he doesn’t go anywhere.
I try to ignore the throbbing that starts to build between my legs, but that doesn’t go away either.
“Now I have to wash this again,” I say, hurling the pillowcase back into the still massive pile of dirty linens.
“I can help,” he says, his voice so damn sexy, “just tell me what the problem is.”
I take in a deep gulp of air. When I let it out, everything I’ve been holding back tumbles out with it.
“My problem is that we’re down a washing machine and I’m never going to finish this in time,” I say. “My problem is that I’m stuck in the middle of the ocean cleaning toilets, and I’m not even that good at it. My problem is my life is falling apart because I slipped up just for one night and now I’m being punished forever for it. My problem is you.”
“That’s not your problem,” Jake says, gravelly and low.
I’m about to mount my defense, but he cuts me off. “Your problem is that you realized the life you had planned so carefully isn’t the life that could ever make you happy. Your problem is, you just won’t let yourself admit that none of this — nothing at all — is a mistake.”
A flush creeps up my neck and I’m speechless. I feel exposed, laid bare, like he just sank my battleship on the very first try.
“Now, what’s wrong with the washing machine?” he asks, coming inside and closing the door. The soft click of the door latch seems to make the air in the room swell and grow thick with tension. I’m trying so hard to deny my attraction to him that I feel faint.
“Oh, I don’t know, I think it needs to be rebalanced or something.”
Without even asking, he’s down on his knees, head deep in the front-loading washer, torquing the drum. He adjusts the feet of the machine to better level them on the ground, and it gives me a chance to stare long and hard at his sculpted ass. I run my tongue over my lips and imagine the salty taste of his skin.
“Should be fixed,” he says, throwing in the creased pillowcase along with the remaining towels and turning it on for a trial run.
We listen for a moment — there’s no thudding from the machine. “Oh my God, I could kiss you right now!” I blurt out, not thinking.
“I’m not going to stop you,” Jake says, his eyes locking onto mine. A thread of intimacy seems to stretch and hang between us.
Heat rises to my face. Jake has a tattoo of a compass on his chest that flexes and flutters as he wipes his hands off o
n a towel, and I can’t keep my eyes off him.
“I…thank you.” Those are the only words I can manage to get out.
I turn around, shaking a little, to face the dryer. Now that I’m no longer looking at him, I try to regain my resolve. “I should really get back to work. And I told you I wanted you to stay away from me.”
Out of all the lies I’ve told lately, that’s the one that stings the most.
“Oh, so I should follow your example from this morning, then. When I caught you staring at me on the sun deck?” he asks.
I can feel the heat of him behind me as he moves closer, the power of him.
God, he smells good.
Like saltwater and whiskey, warm and masculine.
Jake puts his hands on either side of me, resting them on top of the dryer so that I’m trapped between his arms. His breath is hot on the back of my neck, and as soon as it brushes my skin, I forget how to breathe. I’m sure he can hear my heart pounding in my chest, threatening to break out of my ribcage.
“You know what you want, Liv. Just trust yourself.”
He’s so close to me, but he doesn’t touch me. A soft moan catches in my throat.
I want him to touch me.
“Liv,” he says, his deep voice low in my ear. Goosebumps prickle along my neck as his breath plays across my collarbone. “Look at me. Tell me you want this too.”
I swallow hard, willing my feet to stay rooted in place, but the traitorous bitches turn me around to face him. Every piece of my being is hungry for his touch.
“I want this,” I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can pull them back.
Jake doesn’t waste his time. His hands spring to my body, pressing me up against the wall and pushing my arms up over my head. He runs his calloused palms over them before tangling his fingers with mine, pinning me there, leaving me vulnerable and on display for him.
“Say it again,” he growls, his teeth grazing my earlobe before he catches it with his tongue and sucks. Need floods my body and I’m aching for his touch.