Chapter 10
RAFE
“ R afe, George has requested your company for dinner this evening.”
I looked at Jana, wondering if I’d heard her correctly. Sometimes a dive could affect the inner ear.
“Excuse me?”
“George has invited you to dine with him.”
“Just him and I?”
“Yes.” She smirked.
“The two of us? Alone?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“Why?” I blurted out.
“I think you’ll have to ask George. I’m afraid I wasn’t told why.”
I had a moment of panic but managed to return her smile.
“When and where?”
“Eight o’clock. The sun deck.”
“Is this my last supper? Should I prepare to walk the plank?”
After yet another argument, I was prepared to be hauled overboard. With no life jacket.
Jana’s laugh echoed in the stillness of the air. “Unlikely. George is many things, but a tyrannical pirate he is not.”
An unbidden vision of George dressed as Jack Sparrow had a laugh bubbling up inside me.
“Are you sure?”
And why should I agree to spend any of my valuable time with him? After he acted like an insufferable prig. Again.
Unfortunately, I heard my mother’s polite voice in my head telling me to ‘play nice.’
I suppose I could make one last attempt.
“Okay. I’ll see him at eight.”
With Decker still resting, I’d asked Niall to get the other models ready. Never content to lie around for any length of time, I needed to work, and four out of five models would have to do for now. Better to keep busy than to angst.
The dive this morning had unleashed all kinds of feelings and I didn’t know what to make of any of them.
It was the first time that George and I were completely sympatico, understanding each other’s signals. But he’d given me—and himself—a scare when his foot got stuck on that ragged edge of wood. His safety became my only concern.
I’d seen the man grumpy, angry, and painfully polite.
But I’d never seen him fearful. And catching a glimpse of the real human being behind the captain’s uniform got me thinking.
George wasn’t that different from me. Both of us lived between our comfort zones—George behind the wheelhouse, me behind my camera—and our wanderlust. I wondered what other facets to the man I’d uncover.
Everything on the dive, apart from him getting stuck, went well. It was what came after that confounded me. Once we were back on dry dock, and the argument started. I still didn’t understand his vitriol. I vowed to get my answer and soon.
Leaving my curiosity about George aside for the time being, I decided on a shoot at a nearby island, with plenty of underwater inspiration. We were, after all, selling a swimsuit line, so it wouldn’t hurt to get a few actual swimming shots.
An hour later, Charlie took us in the tender to Moreton Island.
The island was known for offshore shipwrecks and the highest sand dune in the world.
With relatively calm waters and clear skies, it was an excellent day for shooting.
We’d lugged all my gear over, including my waterproof camera.
The island was uninhabited and frequented only by guests like us, day-trippers looking for an unspoilt beach to enjoy nature at its finest.
Sailboats and motorboats came and went, people stopping off for a picnic or a swim and a rest. Several people walked by as I was taking pictures, amused and curious at the beautiful, wet models in tiny scraps of Lycra.
I took several groups of photos: shots of them swimming, snorkeling, and exploring the trails.
We spotted several rare species of birds and fish, much to the delight of everyone.
I probably had a good thirty to forty pics out of two hundred to add to my portfolio.
As time wore on, though, I noticed big, fluffy clouds in the distance.
After three hours we were all tired, covered in sticky sand, and enjoying a much-needed nap under umbrellas. The clouds in the distance had quadrupled and the wind picked up. That strange, unsettled feeling in my gut reared up again.
Not five minutes later, the tender was back and with it, Charlie, motioning to me.
“Time to head back,” Charlie announced as he began to pack up the gear. “There’s a storm about to hit. George radioed for us to get a move on.”
Everyone helped load up the gear on the tender.
The waves were rolling in with greater force, twice the height than when we’d arrived, the tender bobbing up and down.
Thankfully, with the weight of our equipment and the seven of us, the buoyancy was tempered.
Still, I’d lived in Miami long enough to recognize a stormy sea and knew we were about to get blasted.
Charlie hightailed it, and we all held tightly to the sides of the boat.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Zoe moaned as she bent over the side. Willem also looked rather green as Charlie did his best to steer us over the swells.
“Focus on the horizon. But don’t fight it. We’ve all been there,” Charlie commented as Zoe and Willem both clutched their stomachs. “We’re only a few minutes out.”
My own stomach pitched as the tender rocked dangerously, but I took a few deep breaths and did as Charlie instructed.
Now, Voyager grew closer and closer. I spotted George on his lookout, peering at us with binoculars. Charlie waved and I could see George’s grim expression. Then he hurried down the steps.
Oh God, should I prepare myself for another tongue lashing? I wasn’t sure I could handle it at this point. I was tired and nauseous. Plus, I had no control over the weather.
Zoe gave up the fight and leaned over the boat, retching. Willem followed, as Niall and I handed them water bottles and towels.
“Almost there,” Charlie called out and relief flooded my system. Niall sat beside Willem, rubbing his back soothingly as we finally neared the bow of the ship. George, as well as other crew members, were standing by.
The crew helped Zoe and Willem out of the boat first, both unsteady.
“Jana, can you please provide electrolyte drinks for our guests?” George instructed as he held out his hand to help us.
One by one, we filed out of the tender. I was second to last but waved off George’s assistance. But I hadn’t realized how slippery the bottom of the boat was, and I lost my footing as I made to step out. George ignored me and gripped my arms, hauling me out safely until my feet hit the dock.
I liked him touching me far more than I ever thought possible. For all my independence and bravado, there was something about George’s gesture, a feeling of safety, that called to me and had me wanting to lean on him. Just a little while longer.
He stared at me and spoke, but I was too distracted by my ruminations to understand what he was saying.
“Rafe? Is everything okay?”
I finally nodded.
“Get up on deck and go have a rest,” George demanded, and I reluctantly moved away from the warm circle of his arms.
“Are we staying here or heading to shore?” I asked.
“We’re heading in.”
“It happened so quickly. One moment it was sunny and perfect and then I noticed the clouds building.”
“Remember it’s spring here, so there’s often storms that pop up. Despite the size of the ship, you will feel the movement. Hopefully the swells will calm in a few hours.”
“Hours?” I replied. “I think I’ll take my antinauseant meds.”
“Good idea,” George replied as he made his way upstairs.
I hurried up to the bridge deck and, sure enough, I felt the ship rocking. The clouds above grew darker, then the sky unleashed. The deck crew ran around in their rain gear, covering furniture, and putting anything that was in danger of blowing away into the hull of the ship.
The next thing I knew we were moving, heading west.
Instead of going back to my bedroom, I stayed outside, under the covered deck.
The fresh air helped quell the intermittent nausea that ebbed and flowed with the movement of the ship.
And there was something about storms that I found fascinating, the wild and unpredictable chaos of nature.
I’d even snapped a few photos for my personal collection.
The farther we traveled, the lower the swells and soon we were outrunning the clouds and the choppy waves as the mainland came into view. Charlie and his crew got busy lowering the fenders and preparing for another docking as we came into port.
The soft patter of rain was hypnotically soothing, lulling me into relaxation, then finally, a gentle sleep.
“Rafe.”
Someone was calling my name, but my eyelids were heavy.
“Rafe, time to get up.”
I blinked and opened my eyes to find Jana standing beside me, a cup in hand.
“It’s seven o’clock. I thought you might want a cup of tea before you get ready for dinner.”
Dinner?
Right, with George. My stomach flipped but this time, it had nothing to do with the motion of the ship.
“Shite, I slept for two hours?” I shook my head. “Thank you for waking me. I desperately need a shower to wash off the layers of salt and sand from today’s shoot.”
Jana placed the cup on the table by my side. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
I took a long sip of the fragrant Earl Grey and sighed with pleasure.
We’d docked in another midsize marina, and when I looked at my mobile, the map of Townsville popped up.
I’d never been this far north along the coast and made a mental note to ask George if we could stay put for a day or two so I could tour the city.
I downed my tea in a few gulps and headed inside to my suite.
A long, hot shower after a day at the beach always felt amazing.
Pouring a generous handful of coconut shampoo into my hand, I lathered up my hair and gave it a good scrub.
I’d contemplated chopping it all off a few months back but couldn’t do it.
It was my trademark and, as silly as it sounded, I loved my long hair.
Some of the people I’d worked with, and even dated, made hurtful comments about my hair looking “too feminine.” I was never caught up in gender stereotypes and had no patience for anyone that did.
People found out quick enough that I had a stubborn will and stuck to my style, criticism be damned.
All freshened up, I called down to see how Decker was doing.
His leg was better, thanks to the medication.
And Veroush was spending every waking moment taking care of him.
Those two were sweet together, and I wondered for the first time if they were a couple.
Then I remembered Decker flirting with George and thought maybe not.
Then again, lots of people flirted and it didn’t mean anything. If only George could understand that.
After my call with Decker, I spent the next half hour trying to decide what to wear.
It was silly, really. It was just dinner with George, not a date.
Just thinking of being on a date with him made my heart take flight in my chest. That funny feeling in my stomach wouldn’t go away, and it wasn’t motion sickness.
You don’t like him, remember? It’s just nerves.
Despite my anxiety, I was determined. I was going to befriend George if it was the last thing I did.
After careful consideration, I chose a pair of slim navy pants and a white linen shirt. A thin, gold necklace and my favorite leather loafers and I was done. I grabbed my mobile, checked the time, and headed outside, walking up to the sun deck.
I was the first to arrive and took a moment to appreciate the view of the harbor and the glimmering lights of the city around us.
With the loungers stacked up on the side of the deck, I noticed a table for two set in the middle.
A billowy, white tablecloth was covered in fine china and crystal, along with a vase of fluffy, white freesia and roses, as well as pillar candles.
A Bluetooth speaker on a nearby table pumped out soft music, the soothing strains of jazz filling the air.
The overall effect struck me as incredibly romantic, and I had a mind to call Jana and ask her to come and remove it all.
I began to sweat, and suddenly, even a linen shirt felt stifling.
You can do this. It’s just dinner.
Dinner with a man that I’d had more arguments with than anyone else in my entire life. Crystal and china was a terrible idea. I feared that if George and I got into our usual roles, dinner might turn into a scene from Hollyoaks. Or a Greek celebration.
I paced back and forth, uncertain if I should say something to Jana, until I was intercepted by George’s sudden appearance in front of me.
Instead of his usual dress whites, he had on tight black jeans and a matching button down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He’d trimmed his beard and his recent tan made his green eyes brighter.
I caught the wariness in them, no doubt a reflection of my own, both of us wondering what the hell we were doing here.
My usual chattiness was nowhere in sight as I locked eyes with him, my breath catching like I’d been winded.
Until he glanced at the table and grimaced, and I snapped back to attention.
“I think Jana misunderstood your invitation,” I quipped, still uneasy with the whole setup.
George looked at me again and shook his head. “I don’t have the heart to ruin her beautiful work, do you?”
“Of course not,” I replied, willing myself to relax.
“Shall we?”
He walked over and pulled out one of the chairs and motioned for me to sit. I was at a loss for words. Never in my life had a man done that for me. It was an old-fashioned gesture, but I guess good manners never went out of style.
It got me thinking about the men I’d dated throughout my life.
Usually it went like this: I’d meet some bloke in a bar or on a modeling shoot, flirt, find an empty room, fuck, and thanks, see you later.
Even with men I’d had sex with more than once, we usually bypassed all the dating scenarios.
I’d never given or received flowers, or planned special dates, or anniversary dinners, or anything like that.
I thought of that stuff as heteronormative and often scoffed at couples who did that sort of thing.
Maybe, just maybe, I’d been missing out.
Then I reminded myself that that kind of thinking was pointless. This wasn’t a date.
But as George took his seat across from me, I couldn’t deny that a small, secret part of me wished it was.