Chapter Three
It was that little moan that did him in. Sure, she’d been a one-two punch to his libido from the moment she’d stepped out of the cab, but that didn’t mean he’d planned to manhandle her from the moment she stepped foot on board. He had more finesse than that. Or at the very least more self-control.
He’d even managed to deal with the sudden impact of all that sizzling stimulation being dumped quite literally right in his lap. Instant lust was in the eye of the beholder, after all. He would have controlled the response. Where he could anyway. But that one little quiver, followed by that gasp and moan combination, and well, he was only human. His fingers pressed more deeply into the sweet abundance of her backside, and he shifted his head so his mouth was directly aligned with hers, all before he’d even thought about what the hell he was doing. Or who he was doing it with. But she was angling her mouth, too, so he was having a hard time remembering why that mattered.
His lips were a breath from hers when she blurted, “I thought you’d be much older.”
That jerked him out of whatever fog it was he’d wandered into. “What?” This close and her eyes were still so dark he couldn’t distinguish pupil from iris. But he could see the color warming the natural deep hue of her skin.
She glanced away then, shifting her weight off of him, pushing at his chest as she moved out of his embrace. “Nothing. I’m sorry,” she said, though for what he had no idea.
So far, he had no regrets. Except perhaps not being a bit quicker following through on that chance kiss. He might have regretted it afterward, he thought, watching her move carefully across the deck to sit on the padded bench next to her bag, but it would have been worth the risk anyway. He stayed where he was, however. Folding his arms, he studied his newest crew member. She looked like every man’s wet dream, and yet she’d been all business with her menu talk, then confusingly awkward when she’d stumbled her way onto the boat, then pow, right back to the wet dream with that almost kiss. So which was she? Calculated vamp or serious chef? Straight talker . . . or endearing klutz.
He was going to have a couple of very interesting weeks, in very close quarters, to figure it out. It was a distraction he definitely didn’t need during this all important first trip, and yet there was no denying he was anticipating solving the puzzle that was Kamala Apolo almost as much as he was anticipating proving himself an able charter captain.
However, professional obligations would always come before personal interests. “Let me show you where to stow your gear; then we can get under way.” He moved toward her, intending to grab her gear bag, but she hoisted it to her shoulder first, clearly preferring to keep some distance between them.
He swallowed the urge to smile. Maintaining distance was going to be a challenge. For both of them, he thought, given how she was wielding her duffel like a shield. Sparks were sparks, and he wasn’t imagining the ones that had just exploded between them. They might be able to pretend otherwise for a little while, but a ten-day trip was a lot of hours in tight spaces. And if she lasted the whole six weeks . . . well, he didn’t even dare go there.
“There are two cabins fore and two aft,” he explained as he stepped down into the circular central salon, which doubled as both lounge and dining room, though most meals would be served under the awning in the rear cockpit well. “The Wetheringtons will have the larger fore cabin at their disposal,” he said, motioning toward the narrow passage to the right of the navigation deck. He turned and angled past the galley, motioning to the narrow doorway on the other side. “I have the rear right and you’ll have the back left.”
He turned, expecting to find her right behind him, but she’d stopped in the galley area.
“Will you need me on deck? If not, I’d like to familiarize myself with the galley here.” She was opening the latched cupboards, peeking under the counter. And carefully not looking at him.
“No, take all the time you need.”
“Great.” She nudged her duffel toward the passage door to her cabin and stowed her backpack in an open space under the counter. “Thanks.”
Burke didn’t leave right away, although he understood he’d just been summarily dismissed. If she was trying to indicate that there would be no repeat of the spontaneous combustion of a few moments ago, she was doing a damn fine job. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder how long that would hold up.
He needed to stow his tools and get them under way. It was going to take a couple hours to get to Barbuda, and he wanted to dock with plenty of time to load up on supplies before meeting their clients. His first clients. He’d sailed with the Wetheringtons before, but never as both captain and charter owner. Burke enjoyed the little twist of anticipation in his gut. Sure, he was a little nervous. Any captain would be a fool not to be, what with the capriciousness of Mother Nature. But he’d done his homework; he had all his charts and reports. By all accounts, it should be clear and calm sailing for the duration of the tour.
In this case, the nerves were more personal. Working for others, he’d always given his best, earning the respect of clients and employers alike, but ultimately not caring a great deal what others thought of him outside his work ethic. This was different. For the first time, there were distinct will-they-like-me butterflies in his stomach. His head told him he was being ridiculous. He knew what he was doing, and so did the Wetheringtons. But his heart wasn’t as easily persuaded.
Which confused him as his heart was rarely ever in the equation.
Maybe that was why he didn’t head out, but instead leaned his weight against the counter a foot or two behind Kamala and folded his arms. “Dorsey already has some things stocked, though I couldn’t tell you what.”
She was peeking in cupboards and unlatching drawers, poking in the deep cooler. “Mmm hmm,” was the sum total of her response.
He did grin now. So aloof. “Why did you think I was older?” he asked, deciding not to let her put space between them after all.
She lifted a casual shoulder. “Dorsey said you were younger, so I knocked off a couple of decades.” She crouched in front of the lower cabinets. “I was thinking mid-fifties.”
Her new position tugged down the waistband of her snug white shorts in the back, exposing more smooth skin and just a hint of—Jesus. He swallowed hard. Dental floss thong. He had no idea how women tolerated them, but at the moment he was mightily grateful that they did.
So, he thought, dragging his gaze unwillingly away, she’d expected him to be old enough to be her father. And had been distinctly unsettled to find out otherwise. He assumed she’d known something of their clients from Dorsey, which meant she thought she’d be in the company of a bunch of old farts. So, either she always dressed with the intent of bringing a man to his knees regardless of his age, or . . . Well, he wasn’t sure. Maybe she was the type who needed constant reassurance that men found her attractive, but was also the type who didn’t actually want anything more.
But something about the honest surprise he’d seen in her eyes along with the impossible-to-hide animal attraction made him think she was nothing so shallow as a self-centered cock tease. The question was, then, what exactly was she? And why in the hell was he standing here wasting time he didn’t have wondering about it?
He was just about to mumble something about getting under way and leave, hopefully salvaging what was left of his common sense while doing so, when she huffed out a sigh and levered herself to stand. And he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Listen,” she began, turning to face him, “about what happened on deck. We should probably—” The boat tipped as a wake from another boat rippled beneath it. Whatever else she’d been about to say was lost as she froze and grabbed the counter. His gaze went from her white-knuckled hands to the less-than-healthy-looking tone of her skin.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded immediately, but he wasn’t buying it, or the light laugh she used to cover the moment.
“The motion just caught me off guard.” Possibly noting his skepticism, she ducked her chin for a moment, then looked back at him, her smile somewhat rueful now. “Okay, confession time.” She took a short breath, then blew it out, apparently nervous, but holding his gaze readily enough. “I don’t suppose Dorsey mentioned that I don’t exactly have a ton of experience sailing.” She finally let go of the counter, but only after bracing her legs as if expecting the boat to get hit by a ten footer. “In fact, I don’t really have any.”
Before he could respond, she lifted a hand, and despite the fact that the color hadn’t exactly returned to her cheeks, her expression was resolute and quite serious. He respected that much.
“I also don’t know if he told you how important it is to me that I do this job,” she said. “I might not be experienced on the water, but I promise you I know my way around the kitchen. Galley,” she immediately corrected. Her lips quirked slightly, but didn’t detract from the earnest look in her eyes. “The menu will be one of the most memorable island dining experiences your guests will have had the pleasure of partaking in. And as for the sailing, I’m a quick study. If you need help, you only have to tell me what to do and I’ll be glad to pitch in.”
Burke didn’t say anything right away. There was something more going on here than she was saying. He didn’t doubt she couldn’t sail. She had no sea legs whatsoever. But that didn’t trouble him too much. They had nothing but gorgeous weather ahead, and he doubted he’d need much in the way of helping. He also knew George Wetherington prided himself on being something of a sailor himself, and Burke had already planned on letting the older gentleman help out to whatever degree he wanted. Anything to make the client happy.
He also didn’t doubt Kamala could cook. Not that he was simply taking her word for it, but Dorsey had given his word as well. And Burke put a great deal of stock in that. So what it was that niggled at him, he wasn’t quite sure.
“Don’t worry about steering the boat,” he told her, “that’s my job. If you can cook as good as you claim—”
“I can.”
He grinned. He admired her confidence, and though personally he could be perfectly happy eating peanut butter sandwiches, he found himself looking forward to sampling her creations.
Almost as much as he looked forward to tasting her.
“Dorsey told me you’re planning to open your own catering service,” he said. “I assume you need the paycheck here to make that happen.” Now it was his turn to lift a hand and stop her response. “All I ask is that you make George and Tutti happy at mealtime, and clean up after, and we’ll get along just fine.”
She nodded firmly. “I won’t let you down.” Then those soft lips of hers quirked again, but when he noticed and smiled himself, she quickly smoothed it away.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. You’d better get on with what needs doing and I’ll get on with putting the galley in order.”
He stepped closer before he knew he was going to. “I don’t know what Dorsey told you about me, but I’m a pretty easygoing guy. I’ve even been known to have a sense of humor. I don’t want you to feel like you have to watch every word or censor yourself. I know in essence I’m your boss, but I usually look at crewing as more of a team effort, a partnership. So, just be yourself. Say whatever is on your mind.” His smile spread. “Just use discretion in front of the clients.”
“Okay,” she said, the smile peeking out again. “Thanks. I appreciate the openness.”
“Great. So why don’t we begin with you letting me in on what that little smile was about before?”
Her lips quirked right away. It made the exotic slant to her eyes even more pronounced. It made him want to kiss that mouth. Badly. It was insane, in fact, how he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“It was nothing really,” she said, hopefully oblivious to his all but drooling lust for her. He didn’t like feeling so out of control. It wasn’t how things usually played out.
“And totally inappropriate given that my own name is somewhat unusual,” she went on. “But . . . Tutti?” She laughed. “Sounds like a flavor of ice cream. Where do the social elite come up with these nicknames anyway? And how come the guys don’t get stuck with lapdog labels?”
“For the record, the men of George Wetherington’s social standing and income bracket do sport a few eye-rolling names themselves. I’ve personally chartered boats for a Biff, Corky, Moose, and a Boog. Not a one of them a day under seventy.”
“Dear God. Suddenly Kamala Ooh Lala doesn’t sound so bad.”
“What?” Burke asked, on a sputtering laugh.
She flushed a little, and he liked seeing the color come back in her cheeks. “A schoolyard nickname courtesy of Tamo Hakuna and his other fifth grade buddies. I, uh, developed a little early.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Burke said, with such a deadpan delivery it made her laugh, as he’d hoped it would.
“I should explain,” she said, “about the clothes. I don’t normally dress quite like this. And I’m afraid most of what is in that duffel is more of the same. I’m ashamed to admit it now, but I was desperate enough to keep this job that I figured maybe you’d—”
“Overlook your lack of sailing skills if you added something appreciable to the scenery?” He grinned. “I’m all for it, personally. I’m sure George won’t mind either. Just don’t elevate his blood pressure too high, okay?”
“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression before—”
Burke stepped closer. “Listen, if what happened on deck made you nervous, I’m sorry. It was an honest male reaction to a very beautiful woman suddenly landing in my lap. And I’m not going to lie to you. I’m attracted. Probably would be no matter what you were wearing. There’s a lot more to you than nice curves and tight shorts.”
Her smile spread slowly. “You use that line a lot?”
His look of surprise was sincere. “That wasn’t a line.”
She gave him a little eye roll. “You don’t even know me. Right now I’m not much more than ample curves and stretch fabric. How could I be? But,” she said quickly, when he shifted closer, “you are right. I am more than that, which you’ll see.”
“So, do I have to wait until you think you’ve proven yourself before I act on the attraction?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Is this part of my job description?”
He didn’t blink at the intended insult. He’d earned it, but he’d also decided if plain speaking was to be the rule of the day, they might as well put it all on the table right now. “Not even remotely. I told you, you cook and clean and make the clients’ tummys happy, and you’ll get your paycheck. Are you seeing someone, otherwise attached?”
“What? No, but—”
“And are you unattracted to me?”
She looked flustered, but she answered squarely enough. “I wasn’t expecting—you.”
“No, you were expecting someone old enough to be your father, I get that. Someone safe.” He moved just a hair closer and was deeply gratified when she stood her ground. “I can be safe.”
She just snorted.
“Honestly. I’m not so hard up for attention that I force it where it isn’t wanted. I’m a big boy; I can take a no and simply enjoy the view for the next month or so. No problem.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, though rather than cop an aloof air, she was eyeing him somewhat consideringly.
He took that as an encouraging sign. “However, in the spirit of that straight talk I was advocating earlier, I decided it best to admit I am attracted to you up front. All the facets of you I’ve seen so far. And you might be surprised to know you’ve revealed a few things that have nothing to do with the clothes you are or are not wearing.”
She tilted her head, but didn’t comment directly to that. “It’s a small boat,” was all she said. “And we’re hardly going to be alone.”
“I know. And yet that doesn’t particularly dissuade me.”
“So, is this standard procedure, then? Do you always come on to your crewmates?”
Burke laughed. “Nah. But then Dorsey isn’t really my type.”
“And the clients?” she asked, striving to remain serious, but her mouth was already wobbling with the effort to keep from smiling. “What will they think?”
He lifted a hand, let his fingers trail ever so lightly along the silky length of her hair. “They’ll think it’s pretty natural, given that most charters down here are operated by couples who are either married or otherwise committed to one another.”
She smiled dryly. “Yet, somehow I doubt those couples are chasing each other all over the boat, screwing each others’ brains out at every opportunity.”
His grin was slow and wide. “So, you’re picturing that, too, are you?”
Rather than shove him away, her dry smile merely extended to include another eye roll. He was glad she could give as well as she could take, and that she didn’t take anything overly seriously. She confronted things straight on, much as he did, but had a sense of humor as well. She was a good match for him in that regard.
Yet, teasing aside, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he needed her to know that he wasn’t just some island playboy looking to nail anything in his path. “I take my job very seriously, Kamala.”
“Kam,” she said.
He nodded. “This boat is to me what your catering business is to you, something I’ve worked very hard for and plan to make a success of. This is my first charter on my own boat, and nothing is more important than making sure it goes well. I didn’t plan on you, much less this . . . whatever it is we’re doing. I’ve been a ball of nerves all day, and that was before you came on board. I’m excited about this first trip, determined to make it go well, and anxious to get under way.”
“So why are we still standing here?”
He tucked his fingers through her hair, cupped the back of her neck. “Because I can’t stop thinking about what your mouth would have tasted like if you hadn’t stopped me earlier.” He shifted closer, until his body brushed hers.
Her eyes went a bit heavy lidded, but she didn’t react in any other way. She didn’t touch him, nor did she back away. She merely held his gaze, almost as if she was challenging him in some way. Letting him take the risk of making the first move. Perhaps undecided on whether to explore the sizzle between them . . . or possibly knee him in the balls.
For some completely inexplicable reason, that only aroused him further. Charting the unknown had always been an aphrodisiac for him. “So,” he murmured, “tell me now just how safe you want me to be. Right now. And I promise I’ll behave.” He lowered his head. “Because otherwise, I have a feeling we’re headed for some pretty dangerous waters.”