by K. C. Falls
Mechanically, I built an Italian sub on some ciabatta bread. His teeth looked as if they'd appreciate the workout. My hands knew what to do even if my mind was on vacation.
Dammit, it wasn't my imagination. Granted, I've been known to concoct an entire fantasy affair, but not this time. He was the one who pressed the issue. His interest in my opinion of him seemed real enough. He didn't owe me any attention and he certainly didn't need my female companionship when he had two babe-alicious guests to entertain him. That thought sent me right into my room to check on the pool deck.
Sure enough, he was standing over the two naked bodies casting a long shadow over pert breasts and shaved pussies. They both flashed him satisfied Rembrandt smiles. He bent over, looked straight at my port hole and waved. I snapped the curtain shut and plopped onto my bed. Owned again.
Minutes later I got to face my humiliation and serve up his snack. I hadn't taken the time to change out of my shorts and the way he watched me as I walked through the room made me feel as naked as the two girls on deck. Only there was no comparison to be made between their ten foot legs and my pitiful sticks. Model types have always made me feel that the word 'petite' is just a polite way of saying stunted.
"Would you like something to drink?" Why did you have to put a shirt on?
"Just some water. You remember the one I drink?"
No, I don't remember exactly, precisely, without a shadow of doubt which green bottle you were holding next to your naked body last night. Sorry, but your cock kind of got in the way. I couldn't exactly express that thought so I simply nodded. I could locate the exact position of the water by picturing the position of his naked ass. That would have to do.
"I thought you might not have noticed." He poked at his plate and threw a downright Satanic smile at me. The man seemed to delight in seeing me squirm. I turned away to go and get the water but he stopped me with a "wait a minute".
"Yes?"
"Can you tell me what's on this sandwich?"
I rattled off the ingredients. Halfway through I realized my mistake. Nitrites, preservatives, artificial coloring and plenty of bad fat were not on the Boss’s approved list.
"Most of what you're trying to feed me is full of poison. Didn't Richard tell you about my preferences?"
I grabbed the offending plate out from under his gaze. "I am soooo sorry. Don’t blame Richard. He briefed me. I stocked the lunch meats for the crew and just completely forgot you don't eat this stuff. "
"Because this stuff is crap unfit for human consumption."
"I'll get you something else."
"Lara, is it going to be too difficult for you to remember the dietary needs of the one and only person on this boat whose opinion counts?" He was cold and condescending. The smile was gone and the playful mood was dead. The whole spiel about not being the boss had obviously been something engineered to catch me off guard. Whether Daddy owned the boat or Morgan owned the boat was pretty irrelevant. He was the little prince.
All the same, I felt terrible. It was my job to feed him what he wanted to eat. I wanted to please him not just with my professionalism. I wanted to bring him pleasure with my food. Truthfully, I just wanted to please him, but food was my path of least resistance.
He tented his fingers in front of his mouth, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Finally he said, "Do you have any natural peanut butter?" I nodded. "Any bananas?" I nodded again. "Do you think you can manage a peanut butter and banana sandwich?" The tone was mock sadness with a touch of martyr.
His patronizing 'tude was starting to piss me off. I made a mistake. You'd think it was the end of the world. Bologna as a murder weapon.
No wonder he worked his way through three chefs in the space of a year. The man was a spoiled brat. A beautiful spoiled brat, but still. I was tempted to call him on it, but I’d already said more than enough.
"I suppose you are going to add this little sandwich incident to your catalog of my faults," he said as he took his first bite of the new sandwich I put in front of him.
"I don't keep an inventory. It's not my job."
"But you certainly have an opinion, don't you? And one that sure isn't real positive."
"Look, Mr. Wolf, you pushed and I answered you." He was going to fire me. I was becoming more sure of it by the minute.
"Please, call me Morgan and have a seat." He picked up the untouched half of his sandwich. "Care to share this with me?"
God, the man was a complete schizoid. One minute he was a complete ass and the next he was giving me the 'aren't I cute' vibe. I cut a quarter of the sandwich off and took a bite, just to be sociable.
"Without getting into gory details you don't want to know, Lara, my health is very important to me. I wasn't very . . . robust as a kid and I guess I want to enjoy myself now that I'm past all that."
"I understand."
"No, you probably don't. But for now, just accept it."
What I accepted at that moment was that under the table his knee was giving off heat an inch or so from mine. It knocked rational right out the window. His nearness had a surreal effect on me unlike anything I'd ever felt before. He possessed the space between us and made it shrink. He touched me without contact and made me forget anything but the closeness of his body to mine and how much closer I wanted him to be. Inside of me close.
He pushed back from the table and stood. God, how I have always loved a tall man. Rachel once asked me why a shorty like me had a thing for "righteously towering dudes". I could only answer that a big man made me feel very feminine. And that's exactly what I felt like looking up a mile into Morgan's gorgeous strong face. I felt the snag of my sex whispering desire into my head. In spite of all the reasons not to want him, he had my horns growing every minute I was with him.
Stop. No, don't. Fuck it. Fuck him.
His voice broke through the argument I was having with myself. "I told you I'd give you a tour of the sea deck. Let me show you my toys."
I thought about the two stacked blond toys and almost bagged the tour. Living dolls certainly qualify as 'toys'. Curiosity and pheromones overrode the wave of yuck that washed over me thinking about what the man had been up to with his fuck buddies. I wanted to be near him and stay near him.
He ushered me into the glass elevator near the far end of the salon. His hand barely grazed the small of my back but it was enough to make my nipples clench and send a tingle down to pussy command and control. The man did things to me. He occupied me. The vapor of his nearness seeped into my pores. I hated the treason of lust. It had betrayed me in the past and it was setting me up for a fall again.
"Here's my favorite playroom," he said as the doors opened to reveal a line of jet skis along one wall and a sport fishing boat on a lift at the other. "Well," he added, "Make that one of my favorite playrooms." The leer he raked over my body left no doubt about where else he liked to play.
"Would another one be the pool deck?"
"You seem to take a real interest in my activities there."
"Kind of hard not to see what goes on right above my bed."
"And just what did you see?"
"A pretty little threesome."
"Did you happen to watch long enough to see me leave?"
The conversation was making me very uncomfortable. "Can we change the subject? Tell me about this pool. Is it a seaport?"
"Yes. But back to this morning."
"Must we?"
"There's something you should know."
"Honestly, I know too much already."
He stepped closer to me and sucked the air out of the vast room. I felt my punctured will deflate like a three day old balloon.
Chapter 10—Morgan
"Nothing happened at the pool." I didn't have a clue as to why I wanted her to know.
"It's none of my business."
She'd gotten to me. In the short space of a couple of days, I'd made the surprising discover that her opinion mattered to me. Suddenly being a man-whore didn't sound cool, it so
unded creepy. I was not happy with having her look at me as if I had something nasty she could catch.
But I also knew she was attracted to me. I wanted more than that. I wanted her to like me. That was a brand new feeling for me, at least as a healthy adult. And I didn't have time to dissect or analyze it. The moment was now. I wanted to erase the mental picture she had formed before it became a ‘fact’.
"I'm serious. Nothing happened."
"I guess you and I have entirely different definitions of 'nothing'. But again, why should I care?" She had to tilt her head way back to look up at me. Her child-like height was a lie. There was womanly defiance in her gaze and a stubborn set to her mouth that told me she was anything but convinced. The importance of making her understand something I didn't yet understand myself battled with the urge to kiss that willful look off that angel face.
“What I mean by nothing is just that. I didn’t fuck those two girls.”
“Okay. You didn’t fuck them. Are we pulling a Bill Clinton here?”
“Touché.”
“At any rate, it doesn’t concern me.”
I backed her into the wall and trapped her with my arms at her shoulders. "It should concern you because you want me. And I want you. We could have a lot of fun crossing the ocean together." Bad choice of words. Fun wasn't the tone I wanted at all.
"You really are unbelievably stuck on yourself, aren't you?"
It was a retort I deserved.
"Are you telling me you don't want me?" I leaned into her and brought my knee up between her legs. She immediately ducked under my arm and moved beyond my reach.
"I want a lot of things. I want puppies and unicorns and a brand new BMW parked in the garage of my cottage on the beach. I want to be five-foot ten and have a rack like Beyonce."
"Other than the unicorns and the height requirement, those things can be bought." Not that I was in any position to buy them for her. Only Richard knew the arrangement I had made with my dickhead dad. I had the boat to live on, expenses paid and enough cash so that I wasn't an embarrassment to him, but about the only thing I could afford on her list was the fucking puppy. And only if she wanted one from the pound. I had carte blanche for anything remotely related to the boat. Lures were fine. Puppies and BMW's not so much.
I was going to London to see if my exalted father finally found me worthy of inclusion in the family business. By now I hoped he was convinced I didn't carry my mother's special strain of madness. It was time for me to work at something more demanding than being a glorified housekeeper for a yacht.
"But I can't be bought." Lara started for the elevator and I caught her wrist in my hand. I could feel her pulse racing when I pulled her around to face me. The beat of her heart on her wrist felt like a captured bird.
"I don't want to buy you. I want to know you." I brought her close enough to smell her. Her scent was a mixture of fresh baked bread and faint floral shampoo. So feminine it made my balls ache to empty themselves inside her. "I want to know what it's like to talk to someone who thinks about more than where the next party is."
"Somehow I thought you had more than talking in mind."
"I admit I do. Is that so terrible? Even if you won't say it, I will." I pressed my hips against her flat belly. I wanted her to feel my stiffening cock grow against her. "Can I make you laugh? Can I make you sigh? Can I make you beg me to do all the things a man can do to a woman?"
Her mouth opened into a rosebud 'o' but she said nothing. Those feline eyes gleamed with a golden brilliance that made me know I was lost. Or found. I was having a very hard time saying what I wanted to say. There was an element of crazy in what she did to me. She was nothing I'd ever wanted and all that I ever needed. The surprise of her left me speechless.
When I spoke with a kiss, I willed it to be a different sort of kiss. I wanted her to feel something unrehearsed. I wanted to kiss her with fierce honesty that demanded nothing less in return. Half expecting her to wiggle away, I drew her tighter into my body as our mouths met. When her breasts pressed into me the warmth of her soft flesh lit two circles of fire on my skin.
Her lips welcomed me just long enough for me to taste her. Then she put her delicate hands against my chest and shoved me hard. I had to catch the rail at the edge of the seaport's pool to stay on my feet.
"What the fucking hell do you think you're doing?" The edge in her voice was as sharp as one of her knives.
"It's known as a kiss."
"I know what it is. Have I given you any reason to think you can just force yourself on me?"
"I had no intention of forcing anything on you! That’s not my style.” I was a little offended. “You were giving off all the right signals."
"I'm sorry, Mister Wolf, but I think you flunked the class in female semaphore. I have a feeling that the simple fact of being a woman is signal enough for you."
"You said I was 'hot as hell'! You said I had 'perfect bones'." I didn't mean for it to sound whiney, but it came out that way.
"Did you miss everything else I said? Did you miss the part where I called you a spoiled brat? And a player?"
"I was hoping I could change your mind."
"With the mind-blowing awesomeness of your kisses? I think not. I told you I can't be bought. And working for you as a 'cook' doesn't mean you own me either."
"Forgive me for thinking you might be attracted to me."
"I am attracted to you. Who wouldn't be? But being shallow isn't one of my many issues. I'm also repulsed."
"Isn't that a tad strong? I've been called a lot of things but never repulsive." That hurt. I turned my back to her and studied the sway of the water in front of me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." Her voice pillowed down to a softer tone. "It's just that you're . . . you're just not my type."
"What 'type' am I?" I said without turning to look at her.
"You belong with the girls up on deck. They understand your world. I don't." She touched my arm tentatively. "Can I be honest with you?"
"Please." I was hoping I'd be able to handle another dose of her honesty.
Lara leaned against the rail she'd pushed me into and followed my gaze toward the water. "I've made some amazingly crappy choices when it comes to men. It's almost as though I'm drawn to guys who couldn't be worse matches for me. So, it's like a red flag when I meet someone . . . someone who . . ." I barely turned my head toward her but it was enough to see how flustered she was.
"Turns you on?" Her blushing stammer gave me the courage to say it.
"That's one way of putting it. An egotistical way, but one way."
"Can we make a deal?" I took her shoulders and turned her to face me. Her whiskey eyes were enough to make a man drunk with desire. 'Sensitive' had never been my middle name as far as women went, but this time I knew without a doubt that hers was a potion to be sipped, not gulped.
"What kind of deal?" She sounded suspicious and I guess I had given her reason to be.
"The kind where you give me a chance."
"I'm beginning to think that the best way to handle this is for me to say adios when we reach Paradise Island."
"You can't mean that."
"I sure can mean it." She walked a pace away from me, breaking my touch."Why should I subject myself to being chased around the proverbial desk by my boss—or my boss’s son, if you insist? You have been told we're in the 21st century, right? Between the crack about me being better looking than Angelo to the sex on the deck outside my window . . ."
"Porthole."
"Okay, porthole."
"I think it's nice to call things by their proper names."
"Well then, the proper name for what you are doing is known as 'sexual harassment'."
"Oh come on."
"You should count yourself lucky if all I do is abandon ship."
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry I tried to kiss you."
"You did kiss me."
"It was the attempt I regret, not the event." She looked confused. "Look, I wish I hadn'
t rushed you. Wish I hadn't made you uncomfortable. But I won't lie and say I'm not glad to have done it."
Lara put more space between us. Her face was unreadable. I wondered if I could have so completely misinterpreted her 'female semaphore' as she so cleverly put it. Was I just so used to women coming on to me that I figured every one of them was? If so, I was as unbelievably stuck on myself as she said I was.
"Here's my deal, take it or leave it. You back down on the whole smexy whorehound routine while we cross the pond. At least take it somewhere other than my porthole or my galley and no more naked visits in the wee small hours, okay?"
"What do I get out of it?" My question got the first real laugh I'd heard from her. It trilled like melodic bells through me. I wanted to make her laugh again and again.
"You get a damn good cook. You get the opportunity not to have your ass sued off for being such a dick."
At that point it felt like a stay of execution. It hadn't dawned on me that she could very well bolt when we reached the Bahamas. Once we were underway for the crossing, it wouldn't be nearly as easy for her to overreact. I had way overplayed my hand. Now I was going to have to crawl back from the rear. It was my mistake to try a tired routine with her. What worked with Phebes' friends was a big-ass turn-off to a girl of Lara's ilk. I hadn’t had a lot of practice being subtle with a woman. I’d never needed to be.
I couldn't blame her for being leery of me. From the moment she'd stepped on board El Lobo, I'd been alternately a snob, a sexist, and undoubtedly the kind of predator that the good Professor's Lamb tried to keep well away from their fierce little kitten.
Protesting that I was 'so much more' than what met her eye sounded hollow even when I said it in my head.
Chapter 11—Lara
The urge to run was intense. On a two hundred foot boat I was limited. I knew I sounded a lot stronger than I felt inside. Better to keep the act going than give in to the urge to hide. Maybe this was the universe's way of testing me to see if any lessons ever got through my thick head. 'Suck it up' had become my new battle cry. Rachel would be proud of me.