Despite her better judgment, she didn’t force past him.
Moj shook with rage. “I go looking for my wife, and she’s down in here with this fucking old guy. What the hell do you expect me to do?”
“Hey, I ain’t that old,” Tommy yelled. “And I was sleeping, if anybody cares, when she came in and grabbed me. I stopped bonking other men’s wives in my twenties. Believe me, I know it’s not worth it.”
Alton slid into the well and pushed past Moj. When he lifted Fiona off Tommy’s bunk, she wasn’t exactly unconscious, but her eyes were fuzzy and she couldn’t stand on her own.
“Moj, it must have been something else in the treatment,” Alton said. “She’s out of it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
Fiona’s head fell back. She was in bad shape. Alton gently transferred her to Moj’s arms.
“Oh baby, are you okay?” Moj asked.
Fiona nodded. “Yeah, feel great. Why is everyone yelling? I came looking for you. Heard you talking sexy, baby.”
“She heard Tommy,” Lindsay said from above. “He talks in his sleep. Let’s get her into the saloon to see if she needs medical help.”
When Lindsay turned, there was Becca with a bottle of wine and a glass, full to the top. “Did Fi finally lose the last of her crackers?” Her voice came out in a slur.
One starlet stoned. One Botox’ed socialite drunk. Their little Caribbean tour had turned into quite the booze cruise.
Alton climbed up the small ladder to the deck and extended his hands back to help Moj haul Fiona out of the well.
Once she was back on the deck, they all hustled her down to the saloon area and onto a couch. When Lindsay and Alton knelt over and checked Fiona’s pupils, they were dilated, but she was breathing and seemed to be more conscious.
Alton shook his head. “I must have missed an herb, maybe some kind of hallucinogen. I’m so sorry, Lindsay.”
“It’s okay,” she said, and patted him on the back. “At least you caught Moj before he hit Tommy.”
Moj apologized to Tommy.
“No problem,” Tommy said. “At my age, a little excitement once in a while is worth a punch or two.”
Both laughed, and tensions defused.
Again, Lindsay was struck by how well Alton could handle such fiery personalities. But then, as a chef, he probably had to deal with a wide array of craziness in kitchens.
She thought back to their day on Bequia, when Alton had come to check on her and René. She’d made fun of him for showing up like a knight in shining armor, but still, he was kind. He must care for her. And she was beginning to develop feelings for him too.
Their eyes met and neither looked away. Weird, to have such a connection over a drugged-out celebrity, but Lindsay couldn’t help herself.
* * *
Once Fiona drank a liter of flat Pellegrino, she seemed to get over the worst of her confusion. Moj put her to bed while Becca tripped back to the owner’s suite with her wine and sarcasm.
Tommy followed Becca to make sure she didn’t fall overboard and drown.
Which left Alton and Lindsay alone.
Alton didn’t need words, didn’t need to fumble, because he knew what was going to happen. He grabbed Lindsay’s hand and pulled her to his cabin.
Once inside, Lindsay spun Alton around and slammed him up against the door. For such a slight woman, she was strong, powerful. He could hear her gasps of breath, could feel the heat coming off her. Already sweating, he was only going to get hotter.
Her eyes burned into his face. The swirl of lust in his belly lowered and coalesced around the stiff throb between his legs.
They still hadn’t kissed.
She was against him, her face upturned, and he watched a drop of sweat slide down her face.
He bent and pushed his nose against the moisture, letting it slick over his skin. He then moved slowly, smelling her. The chorus of his lungs and heartbeat made him dizzy, and he pressed himself against her, rubbing, until she grabbed him and pushed his thigh between her legs.
Slowly, slowly, he swept his cheek across her face, staying in command, feeling her frustration because she wanted the kiss as much as he did.
However insane, however unwise, he couldn’t help himself. Right then if given the choice between his career and Lindsay Fisher, he would blacken toast to be with her.
And he knew once he kissed her, once they sealed the deal with lips, tongues, and sweat, there would be no stopping.
One arm reached up and grabbed his hair, and she kissed him with a full mouth, with sweet, full, soft lips that were as pliant as Iowa potato rolls.
Made sense, since the air was warm as an oven in the cabin. He could smell her heat, and that was good, because he wanted to sniff and kiss and lick every part of her.
Their tongues met, and Alton surprised himself by growling. When she pushed him against the door, he shoved her back against one of the walls of the tiny cabin. Still locked in a ferocious kiss, he grabbed the strap to the fold-out and pushed it down.
When you’re a chef, you have to multitask.
He got the bunk down with one hand, and with the other, grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head.
And the bra, no time to unsnap it. Instead, he pushed the no-nonsense soft cotton band up to finally, finally, gaze upon her full, rose-tipped nipples.
He forced her down onto the bunk, his gaze fixed on her chest. She looked up at him, her soft blue eyes darkened with need. He bent and sucked a nipple into his mouth and she moaned, the sound filling the small quarters.
He raised his head and grinned. “Shush, now, captain. If we’re going to do this, we need to do it quietly. We can’t let the others hear.”
“Fuck them,” she said, with a hiss.
“No,” Alton whispered, “just you.”
* * *
Lindsay knew she was gambling everything on being with Alton, but it felt right. He tasted and looked so good, smelled like kitchen and cologne and Alton, sweet Alton, a good guy who was built like a god.
He rose up and peeled off his shirt to reveal a muscled hairy chest with a little trail of fur cutting through his flexing abs to the belt of his shorts.
She couldn’t wait. She grabbed his bulge, and he drew in a sharp breath. Wasn’t good enough. She wanted more.
He unbuckled his belt, unsnap, unzip, and she could see him now, straining, dripping, ready.
And big. She curled a hand around his girth. “Dang, impressive,” she said.
“Hearing that never gets old,” he said in a rush of breath.
She stretched up and took him in her mouth, to taste him, to smell the sweat. All mine. With that thought, she began to touch, to suck, until he pushed her back.
“No,” Alton said, “ladies first.”
He sank to the floor, drawing her shorts and panties down over her hips and then spread her legs.
The cabin heat was stifling in spite of the air conditioning, but the cool of the air struck her when she opened herself up to him. She was more than ready to feel his mouth on her, but the excitement of this man taking her in, gazing at every part of her, sent her pulse skyrocketing.
She grabbed at his hair, but he shied away.
“Now, Captain. Manners,” he chided.
“Not now, not ever. I need it.”
“What do you need?” he asked in a husky voice.
Lindsay nearly screamed with frustration. Instead, she kept her voice low and sultry. “I need you to lick me, suck on me, make me come and then fuck the shit out of me.”
“Done and done,” Alton murmured, then bent and licked the inside of her calf, going up, up, up toward her center. Every second, every lick, every caress was perfect madness until he gently found her labia and then her clit and then she was lost in the pleasure of his soft tongue, his lips, the scrape of his cheek on the inside of her thigh. His hands came up to squeeze her breasts and he drove her toward her orgasm. Before she knew it, she was popping, gushing, like when they
had flirted while she cooked for him.
Lindsay rode the waves of pleasure, but then felt empty without something inside her.
It was as if Alton could feel her desire. He slid up her body and into her in one quick motion.
The feelings were so intense, Lindsay had to stop him for a moment, to get used to his size, to get used to him.
“Wait,” she said, gasping, wriggling around him. It felt so perfect to have him inside her.
“Yeah, um,” Alton muttered, “condoms and diseases and all that.”
“I got the birth control covered and I haven’t been with anyone in a while. And tested, yeah.” She felt awkward for a minute, talking about this, when she had just needed a minute to get her bearings.
He smiled. “Me too. I’m clean, and if you have the birth control part covered, can we do this?”
When she looked up at his face hovering over her, a drop of sweat slid off him onto her shoulder. They were together, really together, locked, in their bodies, as well as some place deeper. She felt like she’d come home with him, and she suspected he felt the same way.
They weren’t fumbling, first time lovers. They were veterans who had found a partner equally as experienced and caring and trustworthy.
“Ready?” Alton asked.
Instead of words, Lindsay reached up and drew him down to kiss her.
He moved slowly at first, and then faster, faster, as his need overwhelmed them both, and she felt like a part of him, juicing him to a climax, until he cried out and came inside her.
She held him tightly, their sweat dripping down onto the sheets, their mingled sexes dripping as well.
“Shush, Mr. Kitchen God, we have to be quiet,” she said, echoing how he’d chastised her before.
“I can’t with you,” Alton said into her shoulder, his breath a tickle on her ear. “It’s too good. You’re too good. Did you know it would be like this?”
“You’re not gay, are you?” Lindsay asked.
“Far from it,” Alton said. “I’ve nearly destroyed my career with my heterosexual obsessions.” He was strangely quiet for a few beats before asking, “How about you?”
“No. I like men too much.”
Alton chuckled quietly. “Good. Glad that’s settled.”
He wasn’t softening inside of her and began to make little movements signaling that round two was about to begin. She was ready. Ready for hours of drinking him in.
A whisper of anxiety made her wince for a minute. What was she doing? This was the exact wrong time to be with someone like Alton, someone she could really fall for.
And then he was kissing her and she forgot everything else in his thrust, as he made love to her—again.
And again.
And again.
Chapter Seventeen
Wednesday Morning, Carenage Bay Anchorage, Canouan
Basking in the afterglow of sex, Lindsay sat at the Bonnie Blue’s elaborate nav station next to the saloon and plotted a course to Palm Island for the dreaded pickup of CeCe.
She wrote down all the coordinates in the ship’s log. She would be able to pinpoint exactly where they were whether or not the electronics worked, because bad luck could strike more than once at sea.
Once the ship was under way, she would track their course on the glowing navigation monitors up on deck at the helm.
She twirled the metal points of a nautical divider down the path to the turning spot for Palm Island and studied the depths and reef positions along the way. About seven miles to the turn at the southwest corner of Mayreau and then another four miles to the narrow channel between Union and Palm Islands.
And reefs everywhere. At some points, she’d have Tommy or Raoul on the bow for visual confirmation to signal how close the ship came to the razor-sharp outcroppings. Wouldn’t do to collide. Not only could the ship’s hull be sliced, but running aground on the coral would also bring down the wrath of the Grenadine government.
Good. Lindsay had a plan, and she felt smug. Her head was clear after a night of non-stop sex with Alton. Without him, most likely she’d have tossed and turned and fretted.
With him, once he finally collapsed on top of her, she had slept like the dead, a very loved and happy body.
They’d haul up the anchor and head down island to pick up CeCe, but she still had no idea how she was going to handle the War of the Wounded Wife and Mistress—Carrothers’s women, Becca and CeCe. There would be bloodshed and hair-pulling without a doubt.
In the end, though, her job was to deliver the boat to Carrothers. If the fallout got too bad, she’d separate the two women by decks. With rope if necessary.
She shifted to one side on the swivel chair affixed to the floor in the nav room. Satisfying her craving for Alton had left her a little achy. She’d pulled on an above-the-knee skirt that morning with her uniform shirt. Easier to soothe the burning memories of the night before.
When she swiveled at a clicking sound, Tommy poked his head around the door, balancing a plastic wrapped steak in one hand.
“What are you going to do with that this early in the morning?” She pointed a finger at the thick cut of raw meat.
“Oh, I don’t know. Have a cookout, feed the dog—no, wait a minute—we don’t have a dog. How about slap it on Alt’s eye?”
“What?”
“He ran into a cabin door early this morning on his way to the head. Seems like someone porked him senseless and then left him for dead.” He stared pointedly at her, both eyebrows raised. “Should we round up the usual suspects?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lindsay turned quickly away and studied the nav screen, fiddling with buttons to adjust the brightness.
“What I’m talking about is two adults acting like teenagers who’ve lost their minds over a little sex.”
She briefly considered a bluff, but then hung her head. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. We just …”
“Never mind. Alt spent a good half hour apologizing to me, as if you two need my permission. I have never seen a man so riddled with guilt over a little ride on the skin boat to Tuna Town.”
“Are you done?” Lindsay stood, hands on hips, trying to look indignant.
“Yeah, and you should be too.” Tommy shifted the meat to his other hand and stabbed a finger her way. “Raoul’s on watch, running the engine to charge the batteries. Maybe you should go nurse Alt while I get ready to raise the anchor.” He handed her the package and disappeared down the passageway.
Since she’d already plugged their course into the navigation system, she did have a little free time until they got under way. She headed back toward the crew quarters, and her wounded lover.
* * *
Alton swung open the door before Lindsay rapped twice. He held a wet rag over his right eye. The other eye glowed bright blue, surrounded by bloodshot white.
She handed him the steak and dabbed at his swollen eye after taking the rag. “Is this a ritual of yours after sex? It’s a lot safer to have a cigarette.”
“Tommy knows,” he blurted out.
“Really? Did you think we could keep our relationship a secret on a boat that’s smaller than some people’s houses?” She pointed to his bunk and pushed him to sit down, unwrapping the raw meat and pressing it against his eye.
“We can’t go on like this,” he said and leaned back against the bulkhead.
“Oh, yes we can.” Lindsay knelt in front of him and reached for the drawstring on his pants. She wanted him as much as the night before. In spite of her better judgment, she let the fiery need flashing between them ignite again.
“Okay,” he said, his voice shaky, and slid back, taking her with him while he eased off his chef whites. When his hands found her bare beneath the skirt, the steak fell off his eye and slapped down onto the floor.
The Kitchen God apparently was superhuman in the bedroom too. He was hard before he even got out of his pants. And sore or not, she clenched around him, slick with anticipation and r
eady for God knows how many more rounds.
“What are we doing?” he asked with a moan while he moved her hips in time with his thrusts.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but please don’t stop.”
* * *
Half an hour and one clean skirt later Lindsay was at the helm, while Tommy supervised the raising of the anchor with hand signals, and Raoul began the electronic unfurling of the mainsail. The boat headed herself into the wind once the anchor was clear, and a simple forty-degree push of the wheel had them gliding out of the anchorage under wind power alone.
Once Lindsay cleared the harbor, she set the autohelm for 229 degrees southwest and relaxed against the cushioned banquette. She let her head drop back and took in the clear turquoise morning. After a few minutes, a face appeared in her line of vision—Manning, the tool. Now what?
“Captain Fisher, do you know where you’re going?”
“Of course.” She tried to read what was going on in his devious little mind, and then gave up. “Why do you ask?”
“You’ll be sailing right past one of the world’s most spectacular dive sites.” He shaded his eyes and peered at the waves breaking ahead of them. “It would be a shame to miss seeing all the hordes of chromis and the predators they attract.”
“You mean Mayreau and the Tobago Cays.” Arguing with the man was useless. “How long will you need?” she asked, and then thought better of a useless question. “Never mind. I know you’ll take as much time as you want.” She motioned for him to join her at the nav monitor and pointed to an approaching series of small islands.
“We’ll anchor at Saline Bay on Mayreau. Raoul will take you through the reefs in the tender and wait at a mooring ball. I’m sure you’re aware of the intense currents there. Just radio him with your coordinates when you’re ready to be picked up.”
“By George, I think you’re maturing, captain,” Manning said, a mocking tone in his voice. “A year ago you would have lectured me on the dangers of venturing off into the unknown without a dive partner.”
“Yeah, well, we both know you’re going to do what you you’re going to do. And a lot has changed in a year.” Lindsay turned away from him and went back to the helm, adjusting their course a few degrees.
Way Too Deep (Love Overboard Book 1) Page 13