Kept for His Appetites (3 page)

I was breathless. She would think that I was spying. She was bound to. Well, I kind of was. But I hadn’t intended to be. And the fact that it had made my juices run and left me hot and breathless was neither here nor there. And none of her business. Was it. And, anyway, if she had wanted privacy, why hadn’t she closed the door?

I closed both doors to the rec-room and I sat back down. The heat was oppressive. Was that him in the cabin, just a few feet away, with that woman climbing all over him? Was it him that I saw earlier, watching me from behind as I was changing in my cabin? Why was I obsessing about this man so much? I wasn’t going to get him. I wasn’t going to snag this tall, marvelously attractive billionaire with the yacht and the driver who sometimes pilots. I wasn’t going to get his silver hair tangled in my fingers, his mouth at my breast, his buttocks clenching in my hands, the taste of his –
oh
, OK, break-time was over. Much more of that and I’d be delirious.

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Late in the afternoon, I was laying out little cocktail sausages with chips and dips on the skydeck. I’d wrapped the little sausages in pieces of bacon, and dripped honey and a little mustard onto them. The tit man – well? Nobody introduces me, what am I going to call him? The tit man takes his time watching me come in, watching me lay out the plates, the dips, cutlery, napkins, watches me take the empty tray back down the steps. Watches especially whenever I lean forwards. When I come back with cups, glasses, coffee and juices he watches again. He doesn’t stop whatever it is that he’s saying. Doesn’t miss a beat. But he also doesn’t miss a chance to watch my breasts moving under the tunic. And the legman is getting his sneaky eyeful, too. I don’t catch whether the man that my interest centers on is watching or not. Kaysha came over, almost running. As she got up close, she collided with the tray I was picking up, and dips went flying. Guacamole and red salsa dip was all over my pants. She said,

“Oh, I’m so very sorry,” in that odd kind of rattling purr that she has, and as she said it she practically poured a cup of hot honey and mustard down the inside of my leg. I grabbed a couple of napkins and cleaned up the best I could, and I felt our host’s hand firm, heavy and warm on my shoulder. My cheeks were burning, hotter than my thigh was from the hot sauce. He said,

“Don’t worry. André will clean up. There should be a spare uniform in the cabin next to yours. Just take your time. Take a shower if you need it, we’ll all be fine.” and he looked at me. His eyes were smoldering, but I couldn’t read the look on his face. I felt so stupid. Nothing makes an adult feel stupid quite like having sticky, multi-colored food on your clothes in public. I looked at Kaysha and she was wearing one of those innocent little girl looks. I wondered how far it was from the skydeck to the water if you took the quick way. I made a hasty withdrawal, with no feeling of poise or elegance whatsoever.

In the shower room below decks, I was able to sponge off the tunic, I didn’t even have to take it off. The pants were a wreck. I shrugged them to the floor and headed for the adjacent cabin to hunt for spare clothes. This little cabin, same size and layout as mine, was recently occupied. Maybe currently. There were a couple of books and magazines, there were women’s clothes in the drawers and hanging in the closet. I found a fresh pair of chef’s pants. I was afraid they would be too small, but no, the opposite. These were bigger than mine. That was kind of a surprise. Maybe I could find a belt or something to tie them with.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror. The buttons on the tunic were still open on one side, down to the waist. It was wet at the side, right where it said, ‘Splash.’ A big hunk of creamy breast swelled and fell under my white bra, there in the shadow. Otherwise, the tunic covered me down to the top of my black, sheer panties, and my legs were naked below. For some reason I started to remember him on the skydeck coming over, coming up behind me. Feeling him, behind me. The weight of his hand on my shoulder. The heat of his body, just behind me. Just behind my ass. I could have leande back, and felt the whole of his body against my back. I remembered the feeing and the taste of his finger, in the diner. My breath got thicker. I felt heat in my panties, warmth and wetness. The scent rose to my nostrils. Food and feeding is always a sensual business, but I didn’t feel like this working in the diner. Not even on nights. Not even on the sticky hot, funky hot, summer nights.

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As the sun was going down, I was putting sliced ham and cheese, some olives and dressed watercress and spinach leaves onto a tray when I realized that the boat was moving. All day, we’d been bobbing on the water, but still in the marina, and I had got used to the idea that we weren’t going to go anywhere. Well, now we were going somewhere. Where, I hadn’t the slightest idea. Could be around the island, could be Spain for all I knew. I took the tray to the skydeck. No-one there. I went to the bar, nobody. I got to the sunlounge behind the empty foredeck, and I thought that was empty, too. As I turned to leave, I heard his low voice, coming from a chair in a dark corner.

“No tasty snacks for me, then?”

The evening sun was so strong from the side, and it made the shadow so deep that I could hardly see him. It was him, I knew his voice. And I felt like he’d caught me. Caught me at something I shouldn’t have been doing. It was like he’d caught me thinking about him. I felt so ridiculous. Was he trying to catch me out? What was he doing, hiding in a corner on his own boat? And why did I feel so hot, so clumsy, so gawky like this. I went to a low table, and started to put out the snacks.

“They look great.” he said, and then, “It’s all been excellent.”

I felt him looking at me. Like he was waiting to weigh my response. But I still couldn’t even see him. It was just my over-active imagination, that’s what I told myself. Still, the crockery rattled as I bent to lay it all out.

He said, “Are you pleased?”

Me? I hadn’t been making all these little finger-food treats for me. Well, I had tasted them, of course. You have to. You always need to taste food that you’re preparing. But what did it matter whether I was pleased or not? Still, there were only the two of us here, even though I couldn’t see him. With nobody else around, I didn’t have his guests to defer or demur to, or whatever it is that you’re supposed to do to the guests in silver service, and I was determined to take the opportunity to talk to him like a person, and not someone constrained in a role. Professionally, not like some kind of a servant. But still I wanted to hold myself in check. My mouth is a demon for leading me into all kinds of trouble, and I didn’t want this situation getting out of hand. I raised a hand to try and shield my eyes, to get a chance to see him. No good, I could barely make out his shape in the chair. I said,

“I’ve been quite happy with the food that I served, yes. With no preparation, no warning of what I ingredients I was going to have or what I would have to work with,” how was I doing? Was I sounding professional, like I knew what I was doing? Did I sound like I was on top of the situation? I couldn’t tell. “There were plenty of tasty things in the galley, and I think I made,” OK, don’t go too far, “I think I made quite a nice variety of refreshments and repasts.” ‘Refreshments and repasts.’ Cute. That’ll do, girl, you got out of that just fine. Don’t say any more now.

“Were there many complaints?” Oh, there you go. Like a little sauce with that? More spice maybe? You idiot, my inner voice growled. His voice was a quiet rumble.

“Not too many, no. Although the way that you wore the dips got some attention,” he paused. My heart thumped. My mouth was dry. I waited for what felt like a long time. At last he went on,

“Mostly flattering attention, you may be pleased to know.”

I could hear his grin. And I knew that I wasn’t imagining it.

“Well, one of your guests seemed to think that the dips would look better on me. Who am I to argue?” was what I wanted to say. But I managed to hold that one back. Instead, I said,

“So, why did you ask me to do this? It looks like you have someone already, and if she had quit, or got fired or was off this weekend, I’m sure you could easily have got someone from an agency. Why me?”

“I had planned to do that exactly. I was about to get someone from an agency, but then I enjoyed what you did in the diner.” He was talking about the food now, right?

“I thought you’d be good to have along for the weekend.”

My face flushed. While I still couldn’t see him, and it was infuriating me, I had the sense that he was watching me closely. I was something he could just pick up and ‘have along.’ And presumably drop, just as carelessly. But then he said,

“Maybe you’d like to be a more established member of the team.”

‘Team’? What was he talking about?

“Anyway, dinner,” he said, “Have you decided yet?”

“Decided?”

“What we’ll have?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” I hadn’t. He said,

“So?”

I was struggling to stay on top of this conversation. I needed an exit line. Why could I never hold my own with this man? How was I always on the back foot? I had to say something. I said,

“So, about 9.30, then?”

He laughed. I left. I was half way across the foredeck when I heard him call out,

“Isn’t there something else?”

I stopped. Was there? What? If there was something else, why didn’t he just say what it was? Why the guessing game? I turned and stepped back into the sunlounge, my cheeks blazing. I didn’t trust my voice, and so I waited. He said,

“Don’t you want to know how many of us will be dining?”

I laughed. Fair enough, yes I did need to know that, and I said so.

“Two.” he said. “And we’ll have it on the deck out there.”

I was still smiling, feeling lighter, and I thanked him before I left again.

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I found some great looking steaks and I made fries, with mustard and a simple salad on the side. Not complicated, not especially clever, but if it’s done well, it can’t be beat. I bet there isn’t a restaurant in the world too smart to offer steak and fries as one of their top main courses. My daddy showed me how to cook a steak, and it’s never been anything but great.

A table was already laid on the deck, with two chairs. There was nobody there. It was 9.30 exactly. The table was out under the sky, and bathed in moonlight. There was no sight of land that I could see. No lights, except for those spilling from the boat, and the full moon above. I set the plates out on the table, and the salad. The sea sparkled. Wispy clouds drifted above, the boat was still, apart from a gentle swaying. Ripples of the sea lapped at the sides of the boat. It all looked wonderful.

I heard his voice behind me, “It looks wonderful.”

How did he do that?

He came around to one of the chairs, pulled it out and stood by, holding it.

“What?” I said. Or something equally brilliant.

“Two for dinner. You, and I.”

About as wittily as I could I said, “but…”

“Did you want to change?” he said, through that damn grin, “only, it will go cold, wont it?”

We ate. His eyes were on me, the whole way through. His dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and they flitted all over my tunic. They brushed up my neck and, pleasingly enough, although terrifyingly, they spent a lot of time locked on my eyes, too. The steak was as good as I’d hoped. He poured us gorgeous, rich red wine. We chatted and laughed, we had an astonishing amount to talk about, and he listened to me with a fierce attention. It was all good. Really good. This was one fabulously attractive man, and his interest in me was clear, open and frank.

I don’t have sex on a first date. Ever. It doesn’t matter who the man is, or the setting or the occasion. It’s a shortcut to disaster, never fails. So, it’s a rule, I just won’t do it, under any circumstances. And, especially, never with a colleague or an employer. Nuh-uh.

He ripped his shirt open, the buttons flew. The table fell with a lot of clatter. Everything in my head screamed,
‘RESIST!’
No part of my body complied. His hands flew to my soft, round buttocks, and our mouths docked with an airtight seal.