Tommy let her rant. Or he wasn’t listening, which he sometimes did because he knew her so well. He could guess the ending of most of her sentences. He took out a cigar and chewed the end. Didn’t light it. He’d given that up years ago.
Lindsay ended her rant. And waited. Tommy worked over the cigar.
Damn men. She needed to talk. She needed someone to say all the right things to her, or at least try.
“Say something,” Lindsay said.
Tommy shrugged his shoulders, and spit some tobacco out of his mouth. “What do you call it when you can switch hit? Like go left hand or right hand, but with guys and girls?”
“Bisexual?”
Tommy smiled around his cigar. “Maybe Alton is one of them. Then again, you can be a bitch. And old? Dang, how old are you now?”
Lindsay laughed. “Is this how you help your buddies when they come around with problems?”
Tommy thought for a minute. “Pretty much. Make fun of them. Have a few beers, then say I know exactly how they feel.”
She pushed him with her foot. “Skip the teasing part and go easy on the beer. You’re on duty after Raoul. Get to that last part.”
He patted her foot. “Lindsay, you know me. I’ve been lucky with love. Then death came and took away the best woman I’ve ever known. Besides you, of course. Now, I chase skirts still, but it’s always a tug-a-war between what I want it to be and what it is. Sometimes that’s fun. More often, it’s a pain in the fucking patoot.”
“And you say I have filthy mouth.”
Tommy shrugged. “Do you think you and the pretty boy could have anything serious? Or are you just playing?”
“Playing,” Lindsay said quickly.
“Reality is you’ve lost two boats. Playtime is over. This trip is all business. Keep your focus, and let Alton come to you if it’s meant to be.”
“For a wise acre, you’re pretty wise,” Lindsay said.
Tommy took the well-chewed cigar from his mouth and saluted her. “What’d you call me before? Oh yeah, a Cosmo Yoda. That’s me.”
She fell silent and gave herself up to the night, listening to the thud and gurgle of the water on the hull.
After a long, easy silence, she stood and said, “I should go say goodnight to him.”
Tommy grunted.
“Was that a yes grunt or a no grunt?” Lindsay asked.
Tommy threw her a look. “Go do what you’re gonna do. But again, not the best time for romance to screw up your thinking. Just sayin’.”
“Just sayin’ I’m gonna go say goodnight. Goodnight, Tommy.”
“Goodnight, darlin’.”
Lindsay left, still thinking about her uncle’s advice. He was right. Not the right time. She’d lost two boats. Normally, that would kill a captain’s career.
But mess up on a third job? She’d never work again.
Without the sea, without a ship under her feet, she’d die. Tommy was right. It was time to be a captain and not a love-struck girl.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday Night, Admiralty Bay Anchorage, Bequia
Alton didn’t mind doing the dishes. Music pounded through his ear buds, and he felt good just to be on his feet, not on his knees next to a bucket.
Although he tried to focus on the Johnny Cash American Recordings, the man in black couldn’t sing Lindsay out of his head. Her touch. Her smell. The quick, capable way she handled a one-hundred-plus-foot yacht.
She’d saved him when he needed her.
When he dried the last pan, he heard footsteps approach the galley. His heart swelled—his body tingled. He expected maybe Lindsay, coming to him now that the dishes were done. They could sneak off, and he could kiss her. Taste her.
Then Alton smelled Becca’s perfume.
She blocked his exit completely with her cleavage, with her mussed hair, with the full Champagne flute in her hand, leftover Don Perignon from lunch. She was two glasses beyond tipsy, and approaching three sheets to the wind.
A sailing reference? Come on, buddy, you’re losing it..
“Alton, baby,” Becca said, and then giggled.
Drunken girls. College. Everything came back to him in an instant. A lot of nights he’d answered the mating call of the sorority girl: “I’m soooo drunk.”
Becca fell against him. Boobs first. She was pliant in the right places, full and swollen, Pilates hard and muscled everywhere else. She was a playground for the senses, tottering around on high heels.
She touched his cheek. “You are so good-looking. I mean, not a little, a lot. And you can cook. I love your food. I’m so glad I could give you this chance.”
She smelled like Givenchy perfume from Galeries Lafayette, booze, sunscreen, and extortion.
Did she mean she’d given him a chance to cook again, but then expected him to sleep with her?
Alton took a breath, drew a hand through her hair, and then leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’m so grateful to you. Thank you.”
He felt her tremble, felt her desire, could smell it pouring out of her, and her delicate hands drifted onto his arms, sliding over the hair and muscles of his forearms. Firm from whisking. Which made him think of Lindsay.
Alton stepped back. Becca was hungry, and not for his beurre blanc sauce.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me? I need to be kissed, hard.” She made a gasping noise and drained the glass.
Alton didn’t want to kiss her. He wanted Lindsay. If he was going to throw his career away for a little play, he wasn’t going to do it with Becca Carrothers. But he had to worm his way out until she sobered up enough to remember her wedding vows.
“Becca, what night is it?” Alton asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t give a shit about the date. Come and whisper into my ear again. I liked that. Say French chef stuff.”
Alton enclosed her hand in his to keep it from roving. “It’s only the second night, Becca. Every night we wait, the better the payoff. Right? And it’s been a helluva day for me.” He bent forward and whispered again into the curves of her ear. “Let’s wait. Tonight we touched. Tomorrow night, maybe a little more. Then a little more. This crazy feeling will only get better.”
Becca swayed and Alton caught her. She took a step back. “Damn. You’re right. If we screwed around tonight, it might get awkward. No, we shouldn’t tonight. Thanks, Alton, you are a good guy.” She poked her finger into his chest. “I never believed you poisoned those people. You’re a real stand-up guy.”
“Thanks for saying that, Becca.”
When she stumbled out of the galley, Alton exhaled a long breath. He’d gotten one night’s reprieve. Hopefully, Boss Man Carrothers would come aboard, and then he’d take care of his wife.
Alton glanced up from the steamy sink. Lindsay stood at the doorway. She just appeared there while he washed Becca’s Champagne glass.
“How much did you hear?” he asked.
“Most of it.” She stood there, twisting her hair, her eyes searing burn holes into his dishwater-stained apron. A smile played hide-and-seek on her face.
“She was drunk. She didn’t mean it,” he said.
“Uh huh,” Lindsay said. She came in and touched his chest. “You are a stand-up guy. I see that now.”
“And you’re quite a woman,” Alton said. In that moment, every possible flavor of lust spun through Alton’s senses, his heart, his crotch, and then swirled around his stomach.
He was going to take Lindsay, take her and do decadent things to her in the galley, on the floor. But then, if Becca caught them, her jealousy would turn the boat into a war zone.
He didn’t care. All Alton wanted was Lindsay right then. He grabbed her hand from his chest, pulled her to him, and bent to kiss her. Hard. Becca was right. Sometimes nothing is better than a hard, wet kiss.
His lips touched hers, and they both gasped. One of her hands latched onto his lower back and pulled him tight against her. Her other hand grasped his head and pulled his hair. When their tongues met, th
ey both groaned.
Lindsay abruptly stepped back, breathing hard. And then kept moving back. “Alton, I’m sorry, but no. I like you, but I have other stuff going on with …”
“You don’t have to explain.” Alton didn’t let her finish. She was going to talk about a woman, or some other guy, or something, and he didn’t want to hear it. “I’m sorry. I was way out of line. Let’s just forget about it.”
Lindsay stood in the doorway, the back of her hand covering her lips, her eyes wide.
Alton let out the breath he’d been holding. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I only kiss boat captains once. It’s out of my system. Tommy, though, might have to worry.” Alton grabbed a dishtowel to finish drying a glass.
“I wouldn’t try that with Tommy,” Lindsay said, the shrewish snap back in her voice. “He wouldn’t take it very well.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” Every part of Alton cringed at what he’d done to Lindsay. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
Mercifully, she left.
Alton pushed the glass between two slats of wood attached beneath the top cabinets.
He closed his eyes. Thank God, she’d shot him down. Or else he would’ve wrecked everything in a weak moment.
Weak moments. He had a lot of those.
* * *
Lindsay went to check on Tommy in their cabin. He didn’t snore so much as have conversations in his sleep. With old schoolmates, old captains, his deceased wife. Nothing was sadder than the gruff Tommy turned soft and gentle.
After a long breath and a little snort, Tommy sighed and said quietly, “It’s okay. I don’t mind eggshells in my eggs. Makes ‘em crunchy. Crunchy like your coffee. I just love ya.”
Lindsay closed the door quietly. They were doing shifts, three hours on, six hours off. Continuing watches while in protected anchorages wasn’t strictly necessary, but Lindsay wasn’t taking any chances with the Bonnie Blue.
Up on deck, Lindsay did a quick turn around the ship, checked to see Raoul was on watch at the stern near the helm, then sat on one of the banquettes farther forward and let the cool night air obliterate some of the day’s heat and frustrations.
Still full of excess sexual energy, she stood and moved to the safety rail, stared down into the night water. She coughed and startled a huge barracuda lazing beneath the boat. He darted away into the shallows without a sound. Lindsay made a mental note to warn the passengers to be careful before plunging off the swim platform.
Although she was close to sleep, she wouldn’t let herself go under. Maybe she should head back to her bunk for a few hours before her watch following Tommy’s. She could read a book, an actual book, unlike Alton who liked to pore over the little screen on his phone.
Alton. No, she wasn’t going to go off into fantasyland over him, or how hot his body had felt, how he had nearly kissed her down onto her knees. She’d gotten away just in time.
He definitely liked women. After overhearing his encounter with Becca, she knew if he didn’t, he would’ve used that as an excuse. The fiery kiss proved he was attracted to Lindsay, and she felt bad about having to pull away. He’d looked so rejected.
She thought about how he’d talked Becca into a non-seduction. He was impressive. Kind. Caring. The sign of a good guy. Or maybe the sign of a guy trying to hide his true inclinations, her inner cynic said.
But he didn’t like boats, so a long-term relationship would never work. She’d wait until after the cruise and then have her way with him. He would fly off to fame and fortune, and she’d get another job, maybe delivering a boat somewhere without a bunch of crazy passengers to worry about.
Lindsay breathed in the smell of the sea, her ocean, on a wonderful vessel that would take them safely to their journey’s end. She let a wave of peace flow over her.
The ship’s satellite phone buzzed, tweeped, and set off waves of obnoxious alerts. She picked up the offending device as if it were a poisonous puffer fish.
“Hello, Mr. Carrothers,” she said.
“Hey, Lindsay, as we discussed, you need to go to Palm Island and pick up my masseuse, CeCe. You remember her, right?”
Lindsay bounced up, crossed to the railing, and seriously considered throwing the phone into the water. At least now she knew the identity of the mysterious passenger.
“Lindsay, do you hear me? On Palm Island, grab CeCe, then come and pick me up on Grenada.”
Silence. No. Lindsay had to keep her questions and comments to herself. She had to maintain control.
“Dammit, Lindsay, are you still there?”
“Why on earth would you want your mistress and your wife on the same boat at the same time?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Carrothers laughed. “I knew you’d remember CeCe. Just do it. They’ll be fine until I get there.”
He hung up.
Lindsay looked down at the phone. The little sucker had just dropped a two-ton thermonuclear bomb into her lap.
That man’s idea of “fine” was more like fucking Armageddon.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday Night, Admiralty Bay Anchorage, Bequia
Lindsay sagged into the cockpit cushions, feeling mocked by the glowing face on the satellite phone. She punched the callback button.
“What?” Carrothers’s voice at the other end carried a testy note. “I don’t have time for your doubts and concerns, captain.”
“Wait …wait.” She scrambled for words to keep him on the phone. “I want to be absolutely sure I get the sleeping arrangements right, sir.”
“I never would have guessed you were an old-fashioned girl.” He made a noise at the other end, something halfway between a snort and a chortle. “I’ll leave the cabin assignments in your capable hands.”
“Yes, Mr. Carrothers.” She could almost see the smirk on his face. “Do you know when CeCe expects us?”
“For God’s sakes, Lindsay, just radio the resort on Palm Island when you get close. That spa is the only thing there.”
“She does know we’re coming, right?” The longer Lindsay talked to Carrothers, the more bad vibes she got about the pick-up.
“Of course.”
The abrupt click-off left her knowing less than when the weird conversation began. She ticked off the possibilities where she could stash CeCe. Since Becca had already commandeered the owner’s suite, she’d better put the masseuse as far away as possible.
Then Lindsay wouldn’t have to make an embarrassing move once Carrothers was aboard. She’d give his mistress a private guest cabin with a queen-sized bunk far enough forward so that Becca wouldn’t overhear whatever hijinks her husband had planned.
She tilted her head back and studied the stars. Like old friends, they could pull her out of a funk. The sea and the night sky were her get-out-of-jail-free cards. No matter how much crap life handed her, they were always there.
She glanced back at the helm and saw Raoul still at his shift. The first time she met him, she’d had her doubts, but he seemed to have the basic sailing skills she and Tommy needed in a third crewman.
It didn’t pay to pry too closely into the backgrounds of the shady multinationals who were everywhere in the yachting world. However, after she lost a yacht to a scumbag crewman and his drug pirate buddies, she’d become more cautious in her assessments. Normally, she would’ve sent him packing, but Carrothers had insisted on him.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Lindsay exploded out of the cushions onto her feet. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“Who the hell else would be here at this hour?” Tommy stood there in his bare feet, looking a little like a pirate, except for the crew uniform shirt and shorts.
“What brings you up top?”
He mimed rolling on his feet like a gorilla and then pointed toward Raoul. “Gotta spell Lurch over there.”
“Stop.” She could do without her uncle’s humor tonight. In all fairness, though, she’d been wound tighter than one of
the winches on this trip, and he was just trying to tease her out of her up-tight mood.
“If I were you, I’d crawl into that forward bunk and get some shuteye before the next watch. You got three hours. Get your skinny butt to bed.” He levered a thumb back toward the bow.
* * *
Lindsay did a final round of checks before hitting the galley for some bedtime chips`. When she passed through the saloon, sounds of loud, drunken conversation drifted down the passageway from the owner’s suite.
“Can you believe the nerve of that chef?” Becca shouted and pounded on one of the bulkheads inside the cabin.
Lindsay tried to ignore her, not wanting to be pulled into yet another passenger complication, but stopped short at the sound of Raoul’s voice.
“Mrs. Carrothers, I know what you need. And it isn’t that lying slabak in the kitchen.” Raoul must’ve gone straight to Becca once Tommy relieved him. Lindsay wasn’t too surprised.
Mrs. Carrothers shouted and pounded some more. “What the hell is a slabak? If it means delicious boy-toy, then yeah, that’s Alton.”
Lindsay’s stomach did a drop and roll. The silly woman was braying at the top of her lungs. Probably too much Champagne and not enough food. The next words coming from the stateroom stopped her cold.
Becca’s voice spiraled toward shrill. “He slept with Bianca LeVahn last year when he was doing that big, overblown charity thing of hers.”
She couldn’t believe how crass and loud Becca could be. She considered knocking on the cabin door, and making up a question to quiet the woman, but hesitated.
“The man’s a hound, and he thinks he’s too good to sleep with me?” Becca broke the short moment of silence, her voice ratcheting up higher at the end.
Lindsay had heard enough. She strode up the passageway, raised a fist, and rapped on the door. Alton didn’t deserve to have his private life hung out on a clothesline like so much tattered underwear.
Way Too Deep (Love Overboard Book 1) Page 10