Tempest Tossed: A Love Unexpected Novel

by Adams, Alissa

  I cut him off. "Just order something, will you?"

  "Sure. Cool. You don't have to bark at me. What do you feel like eating?"

  "Chrissakes, Stephen. Just get something edible."

  Stephen nodded and escaped into the salon just as my phone rang.

  Shit. It was Phoebe. What the hell did my cousin want now? I cursed into the setting sun.

  "Hi, Cuz!" Phoebe said in her nasally voice. My father’s sister’s only child seemed to be on a mission ever since we graduated from college the same year. She was determined to be my best buddy. Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Daniel didn’t have even close to the fortune that my empire building father had amassed, so my cousin took full advantage of as many perks as she could finagle. And she wasn’t shy about it, either.

  "What's up, Phebes?"

  "Aren't you, like, taking off for the Bahamas tomorrow?"

  "That's the plan," I sighed.

  "Sweet. Do you mind a few stowaways?"

  'Kill me now' I groaned inside. "We're not coming back to Lauderdale this trip. We're heading to London right after a short stop."

  "That's cool. The girls and I will fly back. We just want a little break." She giggled. “You’ll love the girls and they’ll eat you up!”

  I couldn't say no. I wanted to, but I couldn't come up with a reasonable excuse not to let my cousin and her friends hitch a ride. It was only a few hours’ ride to Paradise Island and I was going there anyway.

  "Okay. We shove off as close to noon as I can get. Be here by lunch. I've got a new chef. I'll have some sandwiches for you."

  "Oh dear God, Dylan. Not sandwiches. Carbs, darling. Just a salad for us. You know the drill." More giggles. Phoebe may have been an airhead but she had the South Beach dietary rules etched in stone on her pea-sized brain.

  I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen a woman eat a roll or a baked potato. "Sure thing. Salad it is."

  "Awesome, see you on deck then, sailor!"

  "Right. Bye." I sighed as I hung up the phone. It looked like I'd have to put up with Florida for yet another day. Phoebe and the 'girls' would be bringing it aboard El Loco with them.

  Stephen poked his head out the door, menu in hand. "Chinese okay?"

  "Whatever. Just no MSG."

  "Ruby Chen's doesn't use it, says so on the menu. Are you in the mood for something hot?"

  "As long as you're referring to food and not some blond chick." Stephen's look required a response. "My cousin Phoebe called. She and a few of her friends will be joining us tomorrow for the trip."

  "To London?"

  "No, thank God. Just to Paradise Island. I didn't know how to say no."

  "Why would you want to? Your cousin and her friends are —"

  "I know what they are," I cut him off. "I just need a break. I'm ready for something real. Like a thousand foot drop miles offshore."

  "Like a lit-up sail dancing at the end of some twenty-pound test?"

  "That's exactly the kind of reality I'm craving." I took a moment to remember the unbelievable run of sailfish in the Keys during the January tournament season. What a rush. One day, out with Stephen on a chartered sport fishing boat, we'd caught and released a dozen sails. We had chartered Calex and she was the perfect size boat to maneuver through the choppy water and bring in the fish. El Loco was no sporty little fishing boat, but a catch here and there while we were underway was still quite possible and always good.

  The sea wasn't just calling to me, she was screaming in my ear.

  Chapter 3—Rene

  I strolled back to the boat as the last daylight glowed pink on the buildings behind me. My first day had flown by. Stephen had stayed with me for several hours as we went over previous menus and talked about the kinds of things Dylan Cruz did and didn't like to eat.

  "He likes seafood, of course. All kinds of European cuisines. Asian, too. He's not a particularly picky eater, as far as I know, but very . . . exacting. To the extent that you can use organic everything. Emphasize healthy eating."

  I sighed and mentally cut my butter and cream order in half.

  "Have you got something against healthy?"

  "It has its limitations."

  "I know what you're thinking, but you don't have to go to extremes. Just keep everything as pure as possible. Butter is okay as long as it's not full of chemicals and hormones."

  "Mind reader." I had wrinkled my nose at him and made him chuckle. He had a cute, slightly crooked smile that was quick and genuine. I managed to get calls made to suppliers but it was close to six before I was able to slip from El Loco to do some last minute retail shopping. There were items I wanted on my shelves that I could only find in specialty shops. Thankfully, Stephen had made it clear that I wouldn't be expected to do lunch or dinner that day.

  The last daylight of the long summer day illuminated the shadow of a man on the foredeck of El Loco. I already recognized the tall silhouette belonging to Dylan Cruz. I couldn't see his face or his features as he leaned with his hands against the rail. The vast outline of the boat dwarfed the big man. It was a lonely image.

  By the time I had stowed my precious oils and spices away night had fallen completely and the stars danced in the moonless sky over the Atlantic Ocean. I barely had the energy to drag myself into the stateroom marked "Chef" at the back of the kitchen. It was a very nice room, considering what I had been prepared to live with on a cruise ship. There was even a view. The small window above my bed looked out over the deck where the swimming pool and hot tub sparkled invitingly.

  Stephen had assured me that, as staff accommodations went, El Loco was at the top.

  "We even have a regulation-size billiard table down in our common room!" he had told me with pride.

  After a quick shower, I climbed into bed with a book on my ereader I knew I wasn't going to finish that night. It didn't matter how quickly sleep came. I needed all I could get for the busy day ahead. The gentle sway of the boat rocked me and the faint slap of the water against her hull was a soft lullaby.

  Within a few hours, I woke and restlessly fought to get back to sleep. My body was used to going to bed past midnight and getting up just in time to make the lunch shift that started at ten in the morning. Going to bed at nine-thirty was a huge mistake. I slept for an hour, tossed for a half, had weird vivid dreams and finally wound up staring alternately at the ceiling and the clock. The numbers had just rounded up to 3:20 when I heard a noise in the kitchen.

  It didn't frighten me. I'd passed the armed watchman on deck when I came on board earlier. With the nearly priceless paintings on board, I felt pretty good about my security. But, since I was up anyway I thought I'd check out who or what was poking around my kitchen.

  I padded into the galley on my bare feet. It was lit with a pale blue glow from the safety lights around the baseboards. In front of the glass-fronted beverage cooler were two bare and perfect male butt cheeks. The owner of the cheeks was squatting and leaning far into the unit rummaging through the bottles on the second shelf from the bottom.

  Before I could sneak silently back into my room, the auto-shut function on my door did its thing. It was a small sound, but it was enough.

  He shot upright with two green bottles in his hand. The clinking bottles were as loud as an alarm.

  Dylan turned around and stood perfectly still for a moment as if he couldn't quite register how or why I was standing in front of his naked self. I was nearly naked myself. A mini camisole covered my breasts, but just barely. And what was covered instantly came to full attention at the sight of him. My nipples were ready to poke holes in the flimsy top. The thong between my legs took on Band-Aid like proportions as he quite unapologetically raked his eyes over every inch of me. He took his time. I felt a flush rising from my chest to my scalp.

  Even though he was the one invading my space bare-assed, I was the one who stammered an apology.

  "Oh . . . oh . . . I . . . I'm so sorry. Really. I didn’t . . ." I tried hard to keep my eyes glancing down, but it was
impossible to miss his growing erection. "I heard a noise. And, well . . . it's my first night and I guess I . . . well it's . . ."

  Dylan casually moved behind the island and concealed himself. I tried not to notice anything, especially the part of him that was demanding attention. Rationally, he might have been embarrassed, but apparently his manhood was not. The little head had a mind of its own.

  "I just came in for a drink. I utterly forgot. Well, that is, it was never an issue before." The way he said it made me feel like it was my fault I came out of my room and found him naked. He turned and left without another word.

  I didn't take my eyes from his tight buns until the door swung shut. As pathetic as it may sound, I had only seen two naked males in person: Nathan and Jake. Nathan had a caved-in chest, a wisp of chest hair and skinny legs. Compared to what just left my kitchen Nathan wasn't even a man; he was a mere boy. Jake wasn't much better. He had more meat on his bones, but the word that always sprung to mind when I thought of his body was 'doughy'.

  My rubbery legs managed to get me to the kitchen stool without giving way. The cold steel against my bare bottom reminded me that I wasn't exactly covered myself.

  I'd seen pictures of men like Dylan before. Of course I had. I may have been a nerd growing up and a bit of a recluse in college, but I wasn’t completely clueless. My girlfriends at the restaurant were a lusty bunch and emailed stud photos back and forth all the time. In fact, I had even 'liked' a Facebook page called 'Fireman Fridays' and got to see a new hunk there every week.

  But this was different. I went over the mental image, etching it into memory so I could call it up later and savor it some more. His chest was just like the Facebook firemen. The pectoral muscles stood out in perfect rounded mounds above a hard six-pack flat against his torso. I didn't know the name of the muscles that began below the six-pack but they formed a perfect 'v' funneling down toward parts south..

  But Dylan's package was so much more than his package. The muscles on his limbs were as well defined as an athlete's. There wasn’t a spot on him that looked less than perfectly toned. The rear view was just as fantastic. His cheeks stiffened in just the right way with each step he took. It made me want to pinch them.

  I sat for a long time in the dimly lit kitchen thinking about what it would be like to be intimate with that kind of man. I'd certainly never looked at a fireman picture and thought, "God, I want that!." A real living naked man evoked a far different response. At least this one did.

  The clock said five minutes to four. My alarm was set for five. It was pointless to go back to sleep. I tried to read, but I was too distracted.

  I flipped open my laptop to shoot a note to my roomie, Hannah. She was the best friend I’d ever had and I adored her.

  When I had announced my abrupt career change, she had taken the news with her usual calm. I've always adored Hannah for being everything I'm not. She's steady, realistic and uncomplicated and she's pulled me off of more than one cloud. I knew I'd miss her with a huge ache. Leaving Hannah was the hardest thing about leaving Florida.

  She’d said she'd miss me too, but what a deal. Who wouldn't be happy? An absentee roomie who paid her half of all the bills was sweet. Plus, she'd be free of the responsibility of dishing out her daily dose of ‘tell it like it is’. Hannah was an angel for putting up with me and managing to actually enjoy my borderline bi-polar ways. No matter how ridiculous or disastrous the situation I put myself in, Hannah was always able to take the edge off.

  I lucked into being Hannah's roommate during my last year of culinary school, and we’ve stayed together ever since. We scored a very cute little two bedroom apartment above a commercial space right off of Collins Avenue. At first it seemed kind of weird to be living over an adult 'bookstore' but I’d gotten used to it. I quickly learned that triple X is not just for creepy dudes in trench coats. In a few short months I’d seen every variation of the human race pass through the doors below me. I always got a kick out of ‘Mr. & Mrs. Average Middle Age' coming out hand in hand with a jumbo pack o'porn.

  It wasn't really an option not to keep my place. I simply didn't have enough time to pack up all my stuff, put it into storage and tie up loose ends. Besides, with the fat pay the expense seemed trifling. And as quickly as everything had moved, I kind of liked the security of knowing I still had a home and that Hannah was minding it. Just in case.

  "I'm happy for you Rene. Chef on a luxury yacht. Way to go." Hannah had told me as she poured us two glasses of our favorite pinot. We clinked glasses in a toast to my future.

  "To El Loco!"

  "To sailing off into the sunset!"

  "To rich farts with big boats!"

  "To no more jerks telling you what to do!"

  I had given her a look and rolled my eyes. "Well, that might not be entirely the case. The Captain told me that the owner is difficult and demanding."

  "How much more difficult and demanding can he be than what you've put up with at the restaurant?"

  "That's more or less what I told Captain Stephen." The wine swirled in my glass as I gave that thought some air time. "I mean, he's just one man, right? One man, three meals a day. How hard can that be?" If I had only known.

  I could picture her laughing her ass off when she read my note when she got up in the morning.

  Hey Hannah,

  We're shoving off for the Bahamas tomorrow as soon as my supplies are delivered. I'm not sure where we're going, but it's on the other side of the Atlantic. I'll find out tomorrow and keep you posted. You should see this boat! It is unbelievable. So no worries about being able to stay in touch. I'm sure the several huge satellite dishes on top will keep the wifi working no matter where we are.

  Right now, it's almost 4 and I'm wide awake because I just walked out of my room (which is off the kitchen) and caught my boss buck naked in the kitchen! Oh my. He looks like he should be on some man-of-the-month calendar or something. We may have to invent a new word to describe the hotness of this guy. Obviously off limits to lil'ole me, but still. It will be an interesting voyage. I’m working on not having a crush on him. LOL. Honestly, I won’t make the same mistake twice. Chef Asshole managed to make me join the Navy and see the world.

  Not off-limits is the very cute captain. Not on the same level as 'the Boss' but cute all the same in a nice-guy kind of way. Nice doesn't have to always mean boring does it? He’s a little on the stocky side—not fat—just sturdy looking. Not at all your type and probably not mine, either.

  Hell, there are fifteen other guys I get to size up so there’s bound to be one I like.

  Anyway, you can see that my mind is right back in the old familiar gutter. Hey, I can't always be about food, can I?

  Keep me posted on life in Lauderdale

  Talk soon. XO R

  I hit send and stared at the screen. I was about to get dressed and go into the kitchen for some therapeutic chopping, but there was nothing I really needed to prep for. My fingers automatically typed 'Dylan Cruz' in the search box. Apparently he kept a low profile because other than the usual white pages listings there wasn't much. He and Stephen had won a couple of fishing tournaments in the past few years, but there was no reference to business, schooling or any kind of affiliations anywhere. The image search turned up some shots of him with Stephen and several other guys holding trophies from the tournaments.

  I clicked on one of the generic white pages listings for Ft. Lauderdale and noted the relatives listed: Jackson Cruz, Francesca Cruz, Dawn Cruz.

  Jackson turned out to be the most interesting one. There was a boatload of information about the hotel chain mogul and his empire. Born in 1942. That would make him the right age to be Dylan's father. I scrolled through a few articles outlining the senior Cruz's many accomplishments, philanthropic endowments and miscellaneous appearances at this or that social function. One article talked about his interest in protecting the ocean's resources and made mention of his boat, El Loco.

  "Ah, Daddy's boat, the hand-me-down." I tho
ught. I was starting to put together a mental picture of Dylan Cruz as a rather do-nothing, over-grown rich kid sailing around the world at his father's expense. So much the better. It was a convenient box to put him in.

  I had been raised to respect hard work, not silver spoons in undeserving, if beautiful mouths. I was thankful for a reason not to find him irresistible. I needed a reason after just having his naked self take my libido on a little trip to the stars. If only he wasn’t such a sizzling example of a male animal. Damn.

  Chapter 4—Dylan

  After I left the kitchen my embarrassing erection deflated rapidly. The bastard was way too quick to respond to the sight of Rene standing there in the pale light. I had wondered what her body looked like under those shapeless chef's togs and now I knew. I figured she'd be slim so her curves took me, and my boy, by surprise. The tiny little top rode high above a waist that looked like it would easily fit in the span of my hands and made the curve of her hips seem like a juicy, swollen pear. I was amazed that someone so tiny could look so ripe. I knew I stared for too long, but it was impossible to tear my eyes away.

  I popped open one of the bottles I had managed to hold onto and drained it dry. Closing my eyes only made the image of Rene clearer. My hand wandered down like a thirteen year old boy who found his dad's stash of Playboy magazines as I recalled the image of her standing nearly naked and within my reach.

  I gave myself permission. Head against the pillow and hand between my thighs I played a mind-movie starring a brown-eyed girl.

  I couldn't remember the last time I'd done this. There was no shortage of women who were interested in being with me. I had no illusions that it was because of my dashing good looks alone. I never underestimated the sex appeal of money. It was irrelevant that I actually had very little money, the important thing was that women thought I did.