The Wrong Gentleman(53)

The problem was I was spending the evening with the wrong gentleman. Being here with Walt had made me realize what I felt for Landon was more complicated than I’d thought.

Walt had talked about his ranch back in Texas, as well as his plans to replace one of his helicopters. He’d asked me again where I’d gone to college and what my parents did and seemed to have genuinely forgotten that I’d told him both things before.

“I thought I might take you shopping before my guests arrive tomorrow,” Walt said.

“Shopping? Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Well, I was hoping to take you to a poker match next week. Do you like poker?”

Perhaps I should have said no to Walt the first time he asked me to dinner. He might have been upset, but at least he wouldn’t have asked me again. And now to join him in a poker match? It was the last thing I wanted to do. “I’ve never played.”

More time with Walt was the last thing I was craving. I hadn’t seen Landon since he’d told me dinner with Walt was my decision. But still, it was his arms I wanted around me, his company I craved. I wanted him sitting in front of me, topping up my glass.

“Well, I will enjoy teaching you,” Walt said.

Even though I would have preferred Landon to stake his claim to me and to have insisted I refuse Walt’s dinner invitation, it hadn’t watered down my feelings for him.

What I felt for Landon didn’t compare to anything I’d ever felt for any man. Nobody had ever made me feel as safe, as protected, and as accepted as he did. I’d spent all these years resolutely single and I’d done it easily. I’d never craved any man’s touch, never thought I’d be wandering around deck with an empty tray looking for empty glasses just to catch a glimpse of a man.

I wasn’t sure if it was love, but it was something I’d never experienced before, and I knew there was no going back.

“That would be lovely . . .” I couldn’t do this. I knew Landon accepted that me spending time with Walt was part of the job, but I felt like I was leading Walt on and at the same time being disloyal to Landon. It might get me fired. And I might end up with no tip, but I had to be straight with Walt. “But, I want to be completely clear with you, Walt. I enjoy your company as a friend.”

Landon had shown me that I could trust a man to be exactly who he said he was. He’d made me consider that I might have a future outside of yachting.

Landon had opened my eyes to a new world.

He deserved my respect, my loyalty, and for me to be completely transparent with Walt about my interest in him.

Walt patted me on the hand. “And I feel the same way, Skylar.” He continued to chew on the pork tenderloin that Anton had made.

“So, no need to take me shopping,” I said.

“Friends can go shopping together, can’t they? And I’m sure as shit they can play poker together. Listen, I get that we will never be lovers—I have a twenty-two-year-old girlfriend back in Dallas, and she keeps me plenty busy. But I like the platonic company of pretty girls. Always have. Say you’ll play poker with me? You never know, you might end up a little richer at the end of the night.”

Walt’s response hadn’t been what I was expecting. Not only did he not fire me, he wanted to be my friend. It didn’t make much sense. It was unusual that guests wanted to hang out with crew, but it did happen. It was usually toward the end of a boozy evening, when most of a party had gone to bed, that guests wanted the crew to start partying with them. But given I’d been upfront with Walt, I figured a night at the casino wasn’t going to be the worst night of my life.

“Sure, that would be lovely, but no need for any shopping. I have a trusty black dress that will do just fine.”

“A woman who doesn’t want me to take her shopping? Well, you are a breath of fresh air.” He chuckled as he set his knife and fork down. I was desperate to clear his plate and disappear downstairs. I couldn’t wait to get back to Landon, sink into his arms, and tell him how I’d told Walt we were strictly in the friend zone.





Thirty-One





Landon


“This bed wasn’t made for two,” Skylar said as we lay on our sides on my bottom bunk, her back to my front.

“This bed wasn’t made for one,” I replied, burrowing my face into her neck, and she giggled.

The sound wound around me, and I pulled her even closer, wanting to feel the vibrations of laughter deep in my belly. I’d never been with a woman like this—fully clothed, but touching, on a bed, knowing it was going to lead nowhere. We were both there to just enjoy each other’s warmth and comfort.

I couldn’t ever remember feeling this fucking content. It was like Skylar had pulled out my DNA, taken one of her polishing cloths to it, and had irrevocably altered my biological makeup. Would things shift back again at the end of the summer? Would I miss this . . . closeness?

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, smoothing her hands over mine, which I had clamped around her waist.

“Nothing.” You, I didn’t say.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she said.

I exhaled. I wished I could tell her why I was on the yacht. “Christmas is my favorite time of year.”

She jerked in my arms and turned her head toward me. “Really? How . . . sentimental of you. It’s my least favorite holiday,” she said.