Avery

“I owe you, Avery Walker,” Hayden said, turning from where he was leaning against the balustrade facing the sea. He grinned as the sliding doors of the main salon closed behind me.

“You do?” I set down his coffee on the side table near his usual lounger. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant but his British accent, softened a little by the sun and that wide grin, felt overfamiliar.

“You were right. He was getting jittery about letting go,” he said, striding toward me.

As he leaned to pick up his coffee, I caught his scent—a combination of ocean breeze and forest floor, clean and masculine.

“That’s so great,” I said, moving away from him, trying to keep my distance, trying not to notice how his face had bronzed in the sun and his hair was smattered with licks of gold. “It was just a suggestion.”

“It was a good one. Really good,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. My heart began to pound. Was he making a pass at me? No, this man was all business. He was clearly just grateful for me talking to him. Yes, that was definitely it.

“What did he say?” I asked.

He blinked, his long eyelashes sweeping up his face. “I left him a voicemail talking about his people and suggesting he continue to have a role on an employee committee. He called me back. He’d wanted to know that the business was more than a balance sheet for me.”

“I’m glad. People are my business. It’s my job to spot what could make them unhappy and head it off before it happens,” I replied, trying to stay matter-of-fact.

“I see that. I can’t imagine anyone being unhappy with you around.” He narrowed his eyes and my heart began to flutter against my ribs.

I didn’t know how to respond. I’d never known a guest so focused on business on a yacht. But this lighter, and definitely flirtatious, side of Hayden that snuck out here and there had me in a spin. And I knew I shouldn’t encourage it, but I enjoyed this side of him and wanted to see it more.

A beat of silence passed between us and I went to walk away before he spoke. “I bet you’ve seen a lot. People with money can be . . . colorful.” It was as if he were trying to prolong our interaction, just to talk about nothing in particular.

“It’s amazing what money can buy,” I replied, also wanting the conversation to continue. Most of the time I just saw people’s behavior as indulgent but every now and then I found the excess too much.

“Drugs?” he asked.

I flipped my tray under my arm. “No way. That’s a pretty hard line. I mean, I know it happens on boats used by the owners, but not on charters. There’s too much to lose for the captains, though the alcohol tends to more than make up for it.”

“I bet. I’ve never really been much of a drinker.”

Of course I knew that about him already. “Too much of a control freak?” I asked, then inwardly cringed.

He smirked. “You noticed?” He sipped his coffee as if we were two colleagues or friends having a chat. “I think I’ve always been too ambitious, too focused. Even at university I was scouring the financial pages at 5am when everyone else was passed out with a hangover.”

I understood that. I’d been working long hours away from home when all my friends from high school had been drowning in Jell-O shots. “Yeah. I never did the college experience thing either.”

“It seems we have that in common—we both take our work a little too seriously,” he said.

Pleasure bloomed in my chest at him acknowledging my job. I did work hard, and I might not make millions but that didn’t mean I wasn’t committed and focused. “Yeah. The hours are long and it’s nonstop all day.”

“We both probably should have a little more fun.” His eyebrows pulsed up suggestively, so different from the intense, focused, private man I saw most of the time. Was he intimating that we have fun together or just generally? If any other guy had said that I would know they were coming on to me, but Hayden was . . . different. Interesting. Confusing.

“We have plenty of tequila on board,” I said. “And then there’s always the inflatable banana.”

Hayden let out a roaring laugh and leaned back on the railings. “You were right about me when you said I wasn’t the banana boat kind of guy. Like you say yourself, you read people well.”

“Sometimes.” Not with you, I thought. I should have excused myself. I should have made an excuse about towels or something, but I wanted him to tell me more, give me more. “You must have some vices even if inflatable bananas aren’t among them.”

“Don’t we all?” He paused, holding my gaze, his tongue darting out to catch the dot of foam that collected at the edge of his mouth. “Women, for one.”

I nodded slowly. Of course he was a womanizer. I wasn’t even into guys like him and I was completely attracted. My stomach swooped and my breathing echoed off the deck, mixing with the hard syllables of what he’d just said. Did he mean to be provocative? It was as if he’d hypnotized me with his stare—I couldn’t look away.

He smirked and took another sip of coffee. “But work has always been my drug of choice.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what drove him to work so hard. It couldn’t just be about the money even though he might say different. It must go beyond that. “I can tell.”

“What about you?” he asked. “You can’t be quite as perfect as you seem to be.”

“I seem perfect?” I scrunched up my nose. Was that how he saw me? Did that mean cold and officious? “I’m anything but. It’s my job to ensure whatever I’m thinking on the inside doesn’t reflect on the outside.”

He trailed his thumb over the scruff of his beard. Today was the first time I’d not seen him clean-shaven. It suited him. “I thought I had the best poker face in town, but you put me to shame.”

“I’m well practiced. Some of the things we’re asked for . . .” I exhaled, glancing into the interior. I should have left, gone back to the galley. “It would blow your mind.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to elaborate.

“You get the usual stuff—caviar flown in from Russia, unusual wines, that kind of thing. And then people who want certain types of bedding or special doggy menus. I once got a request for white kittens for a six-year-old. We had to go and buy cats for this kid.” I shook my head. “That kept her entertained for twenty minutes and then we had to rush around finding homes for them all. And then last season the whole crew had to call some guests ‘Your Majesty’ and curtsey whenever we addressed them.”

“Wow.” A smile flirted at the corners of his lips and the sun seemed to shine just a bit brighter for a few seconds.

“And last year I had a guest ask that wait staff serve their final dinner in a thong.”

Hayden frowned. “Topless?”

I laughed. It had been such a ludicrous request. “Yeah. A black lace thong and nothing else.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize that was an option. I should have taken more notice of that form you had me fill out.”

I glared at him and then laughed.

“Did you do it?”

I held his gaze but shook my head. “No, but you can never say no, right? I had the deck crew guys turn into waitresses for the night. They took their shirts off and wore a thong over their boxers. The guests had a sense of humor about it, at least.”

“Can’t say no?” he asked. “Because the client is always right.”

“Of course.” I curved my mouth into my usual, at-your-service smile. It felt as though he was digging for something. I just wasn’t sure what. “I just try to focus on the job. Isn’t that what you do?”

“Put the work first? Absolutely.” He held my gaze. Seconds ticked by, and I felt as if I were being pulled toward him, the barrier between guest and crew dissolving in the heat.

“I should go.” I couldn’t handle the weight or intensity of his stare. It was almost as if he were willing my deepest, darkest secrets to the surface.

“I enjoyed talking with you, Avery.”

The way he said my name, the pronunciation, was so different, as if he strung out the syllables to make the sound last. It was so unnerving that my skin scattered with goose bumps. “I enjoyed talking with you too.”

“I mean it,” he said, scanning my face before he brought his hand up and swept his thumb over my chin, just below my mouth. My legs weakened under his heat and I blinked slowly, desperate for time to slow down so I could take in every sensation. “About you being perfect.” He withdrew his hand and took another sip of coffee as if touching me like that was no big deal. Maybe it wasn’t. To him. This wasn’t a friendly grasp of my shoulder or a squeeze of my arm that I could dismiss as him being tactile—this was intimate and flirtatious, and I needed to leave before he saw how much I wanted it to happen again.