Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I crooked my head. She’d lied? And if so why had she immediately confessed? “What about? That the captain didn’t stop you from going ashore or that you’re not feeling well?”
“I feel perfectly fine.”
“I like the truth, Avery.”
“I’m sorry.” Her shoulders drooped a little, as if her professional veneer was slipping. “The guys gave me a really hard time about staying. And I just don’t want to go through it again. Can we drop this, and can I get you something?”
“The whole point of me giving the crew the night off was so you didn’t have to fetch and carry for me.” I stepped closer, and she had to tip her head back to still look at me. Her delicious throat, temptingly exposed, trailed down to her full breasts. “And I’m not dropping anything. Tell me why you didn’t go ashore.”
“I . . . I . . . I don’t know. I just . . .” Her cheeks bloomed pink and I realized. She was embarrassed because she’d wanted to stay.
I just wasn’t sure if it was the pull of me or her job that kept her on board tonight.
“I’m hungry,” I said, half whisper, half growl. Hungry to taste her.
Her eyes widened and her eyelids fluttered in confusion before she gasped. “I’ll get you something.” She spun around, headed back to the interior.
I’d been a tenth of a second away from pulling her into my arms and exploring that polite mouth of hers. Had she not scurried away, I wouldn’t have been able to hold myself back. Maybe that’s why she’d disappeared inside. Something was holding her back.
I followed her into the galley, watching her skate around the kitchen as I leaned on the doorjamb. She worked quickly, uncovering dishes of various meats, cheeses, pickles, bread, fruit, and then carefully rearranging any that weren’t exactly perfect. Picking up two dishes, she smiled and nodded toward the door.
“Can I take those?” I reached for the dishes but she stepped back.
“Please let me. This is what I do. This is what I’m good at. You’re happy to eat outside?”
I nodded and waited for her to leave. She hesitated, presumably expecting me to go with her but I didn’t. As soon as she was out of sight, I picked up two more platters and made my way upstairs.
When she saw me, her expression was unguarded. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or hurt I could see in her eyes.
“I’m just trying to help. It’s senseless for you to make an additional trip while I follow you with nothing.” I wanted to tell her how she was good at more than carrying plates, how I imagined she could be good at anything she wanted to be.
She pressed her lips together before taking the plates from me and placing them on the table. “Can I kindly ask you to take a seat?”
I pushed down my smile. It was more than a little satisfying to see her so frustrated with me but trying to hide it. “I will take a seat if—when you’ve collected whatever other accoutrements you need—you’ll join me.”
She paused before straightening the platter. “I want you to enjoy your meal in peace.”
“And I’ve asked you to join me. Now, please do as I say, and bring a plate for yourself.” I pulled out the seat on the side of the table facing the water and made myself comfortable.
She opened her mouth to argue, and I simply raised my eyebrows and she flitted back inside without a word. For whatever reason she was uncomfortable joining me, but for me the thought of her company overrode my need to be fair.
She returned with my place setting. I enjoyed her needing to be so close—the two of us just centimeters apart so she could slide the placemat in front of me then set the cutlery down. Without saying a word, she folded the white linen napkin in a triangle and placed it in my lap.
“Can I create a plate for you?” she asked, taking a half step back.
My hand was just inches from the back of her thigh, temptingly close. I nodded and she set about placing a selection of food onto my plate and then poured my glass of wine.
She clasped her hands in front of her after she’d set the bottle down in the ice bucket. “Anything else?”
“Sit,” I said, taking a forkful of jambon and slipping it into my mouth. I nodded at the empty chair at the end of the table, next to me. I never took the head of the table—not in boardrooms, not around a dining room table. I always thought it betrayed a lack of self-confidence for anyone to have to proclaim themselves as the leader, the most important, the most dominant, by sitting at the end of the table. I preferred to prove it through my words, actions and presence.