The Ruthless Gentleman(33)

“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.

She transferred her weight from one foot to the next, trying to decide if she was going to do what she was told, and I didn’t rush her. Tentatively, she pulled out the chair I’d indicated and took a seat, sitting forward uncomfortably.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

“I have, actually.”

Of course she had.

“What did you eat?”

Her eyes narrowed, and I couldn’t figure out whether she didn’t want to tell me because I had no right to ask or if she was simply avoiding sharing anything, not wanting to take the next step because we both knew there was a next step.

“A cheese sandwich.”

I picked up my bread roll. “Like this?” I was basically having a ham and cheese sandwich, which worked for me.

“Grated cheddar.”

I nodded, taking another mouthful, wanting her to say more.

“Bread and cheese is . . .” She looked dreamily out over the ocean and sighed.

I chuckled. “Well there’s plenty here. And you have a plate,” I lifted my chin at the extra place setting she’d set in front of her as I’d asked. “Join me.”

Her mouth twisted as she fought the need to remain professional with her desire to do exactly what a guest wanted her to do. She didn’t take any food—for now—and I didn’t push. Our exchange on the deck below had sent her running and I wanted her right next to me. I didn’t want to frighten her off.

“What else?” I asked.

“What else?” she questioned me back. She knew I was asking for more than just a rundown of her dietary habits. I wanted more of her.

“What else do you like to do in your free time when you’re not eating bread and cheese?”

She shrugged. “During the season there’s not much free time. So dinner and dancing with the crew is about as far as it gets.” She sat back in her chair.

“And between seasons when everyone else goes exploring, what is it you do?” Did she have a boyfriend? Maybe even a husband waiting for her?

A smile curled at the edges of her mouth. “The first night, sometimes I like to check myself into a really nice hotel. I know it’s extravagant, but it’s my treat to myself—one night when my bed’s made, my dinner is served to me, and my drink is made by someone else.” She ran her fingers down the wood grain beside her fork.

“I can imagine that’s nice after running around after guests all season.”

“It is, but it’s more than that, too. It’s about being me again—Avery Walker.”

“And you’re not Avery on the boat?”

She pulled her lip into her mouth as she thought about her answer. I enjoyed these pauses she took, the thought she put into what she said. I appreciated the effort she made to think about what I’d asked her.

She glanced at me and sat back in her chair, adjusting to this arrangement between us. “Yacht crew are invisible but available on charter. We blend into the background. Generally guests aren’t rude, but they are guests, right? I mean, this is my job. I’m not here to have fun. As a crew member, we’re here to ensure the guests enjoy their vacation. So we’re part of the package, just like the fresh sheets, the good food, and the strong cocktails.”

“But you’re not a thing,” I said, uncomfortable at the idea she thought she was an object and that I may share that view.

She squinted. “Not exactly, no, but if we’re doing our job well, we’re invisible when we need to be, and helpful when it’s required.”

I regarded her while I continued to chew, wanting to hear her talk more, to know more about the Avery behind the professional gloss.

“And that night at the hotel—it’s like I come back into focus. I become Avery Walker again.”

“And then?”

“Then I go back to Sacramento.”