Serving Him
Page 19
“It’s time I found a place of my own,” he said. “Property is a good investment these days, isn’t it?”
Rex grunted. Checkmate had been reached. Rex wanted his son as a live-in caretaker for Cliff House, a place where he had a hold on him. Rex knew it and so did Jonty. “It’s time for the shipping forecast.”
Jonty switched on the radio then relaxed into the familiar litany of strange names and wind speeds, paying particular attention to Lundy and Sole.
“It’s brisker than I expected,” Rex muttered. “Bloody weather changes on the toss of a coin. We could be in for a bumpy ride.” He cut himself a slice of fruitcake, grinning.
Jonty’s stomach did a jig. He just made it to the head in time.
An unpleasant five minutes later, Jonty returned to the cabin to find Evie swapping places with their father at the table.
“Have you been worshiping the porcelain god again, big brother?”
“The boy has a weak constitution,” Rex grumbled, disappearing up the steps to the deck.
“And he could eat roadkill on a rollercoaster without retching,” Jonty sniped. “You want soup, sis?”
“Only if you haven’t thrown up in it.” Despite her words, Evie’s smile was sympathetic.
“There’s nothing left in my stomach. Besides, you’re like Dad. You’ll eat anything.” Jonty did his duty with the soup then watched as Evie demolished the entire bowl and two sizeable chunks of bread.
“Hungry work out there.” She grinned. “Dad been giving you grief again?”
“Same as usual.” Jonty shrugged. “He won’t change.”
“Next year when he proposes this trip, tell him to go take a running jump off the nearest pier.”
“So says the favored child.”
“I’m straight, gorgeous, I love sport and will provide him with grandchildren. You are not straight, far too pretty for a man, refuse to cut your hair, you hate sport and you have a talent he doesn’t, which will no doubt make you richer than him. Of course he loves me best.” She raised her mug of hot chocolate in a toast.
Jonty couldn’t help but laugh. “Love you, sis.”
“You too. Now get back to work, galley slave. Mum will be down here next expecting five-star service.”
“Okay. You be careful up there. The forecast isn’t great.”
“Nice and bouncy. Just the way I like it.”
Jonty groaned. Sometimes he wondered if he and Evie were actually related or if he’d been swapped at birth. He got a fifteen-minute respite before his mother showed up, dripping wet.
“It’s getting a bit brisk out there.” She shook out her wet outerwear. “I’m starving.”
A violent swell threw Jonty from one side of the galley to the other. He banged his hip but managed to save the pan of soup, slamming the lid on. “In your language, ‘a bit brisk’ translates as blowing a gale. I hope no one wants hot food later. If this keeps up I won’t be able to use the stove.”
“You’re looking a bit green, sweetheart.” His mother took the spot Evie had vacated. She chugged down the soup, dunking bread to mop up every drop. “Mmm, fruitcake too, you’re spoiling us! Have you eaten?”
“What do you think?” Jonty put a flask of hot chocolate on the table then wedged himself onto the bench.
“Found a nice boy yet?”
Jonty felt giddy. His mother switched from one topic to another more often than she changed her designer shoes. “I’m too busy and, besides, Cornwall is hardly a hotspot on the gay scene.”
“Come up to London, then. There’s this club I’ve heard about called The Underground…and another place called Secrets…”
“Mother! Those are BDSM clubs. Your internet history must be fascinating.”
“I just thought… The Underground is in a very nice area. Westminster. Probably full of kinky MPs.”
“We are not having this conversation. No. Just no.” Jonty hid his face in his hands.
“Interesting that you already know what kind of clubs they are.” His mother gave him a sly grin.
“I… Eat your fruitcake.”
“If you weren’t so green, I’m sure you’d be bright red. I’m your mother, not a nun. You and your sister are evidence that I have had sex at some point.”
“I think I’m going to be sick again.” Jonty ran for the shelter of the head where he slammed the door, grateful for the escape. “My own mother thinks I need to join the leather scene. Oh God, could this nightmare get any worse?” It wasn’t that he’d discounted a possible visit to The Underground, which did appeal to him. It just wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss with his mother of all people. The boat lurched to one side then the floor seemed to drop from beneath his feet. Jonty staggered, trying to get his balance in the confined space. A need for air overwhelmed him. He burst back into the cabin to find himself alone.
The swell had increased so Jonty spent a few frantic minutes stowing everything that wasn’t nailed down, gaining more than a few bruises in the process. He used the intercom to get an accurate map reference for their position from his father before reporting into the coastguard who warned him of increasingly heavy seas.
“No shit.” Jonty grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. He relayed the information to his father. “Do you think we should turn back?”
“No, of course not. We can ride it out. It’s just a squall.”
“I think it’s a bit more than that,” Jonty argued.
“Get some sleep, Jonathon. I’ll wake you in six hours. It will all be over then and we’ll be wishing for more wind, not less.”
“I… Yes, sir.” At sea, the captain’s word was law and there was no room for dissension. Although with his father that applied at all times, not only onboard the Caroline, so Jonty knew he was fighting a losing battle. He did a quick tidy round then rolled into his bunk in the miniscule sleeping cabin, staying fully clothed. He drifted into an uncomfortable doze, rocking from side to side with the motion of the waves, his dreams filled with shipwrecks and towering seas.
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About the Author
Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.
She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.
Email: lmsomerton@aol.com
L.M. loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.pride-publishing.com.
Also by L.M. Somerton
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The Portrait
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Chemical Bonds
Testing Lysander
Owned by the Sea
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The Wyverns: Rattrap
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Tales from The Edge: Reaching the Edge
Tales from The Edge: Living on the Edge
Tales from The Edge: Dancing on the Edge
Tales from The Edge: A Double-Edged Sword
Tales from The Edge: Rough Around the Edges
Tales from The Edge: Scorched Edges
Tales from The Edge: Driven to the Edge
Tales from The Edge: Binding the Edges
Investigating Love: Rasputin’s Kiss
Investigating Love: Evil’s Embrace
Investigating Love: Tarot’s Love
Warlocks: Elemental Love
Warlocks: Elemental Hope
Racing Hearts: Keeping the Luck
His Rules: Tagging Mackenzie
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